


Equivocating

by CES479



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Romance, Slow Burn, another romance pairing, but yes we are going there, no love triangles I promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 76,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CES479/pseuds/CES479
Summary: A re-telling of the story that started it all.Three years later, and my story of Katria Trevelyan needs an overhaul. Katria 2k18 brings the same sarcasm, plus more clashing, less trust, and—wait for it—an even slower burn.A story about two people who really don’t get along until theyreallyget along.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You know that joke/meme where a person on a guitar says “well, anyway, here’s Wonderwall.” 
> 
> Yeah, that’s me, except I’m saying “here’s more Katria and Cullen content you didn’t need.” 
> 
> This story can be read as a standalone. I’ve been hopping back into DAI writing now that I have some free time, and toyed with a modern AU, until I just couldn’t shake this different interpretation of Katria and Cullen’s relationship. Its been terribly fun to make the burn evennnnnn slower. 
> 
> If you check-out my tags, you'll notice there's mention of another pairing. Didn't want to spoil the surprise, but if there's a character out there you loathe and don't want to see more of/with Katria, feel free to message me on [Tumblr](http://ces479.tumblr.com/), and I can give you the heads up. (Anon message is fine. I'll just put the answer under the cut, which I can't do here!)
> 
> Fair warning, there’s not a ton of filler in this story. Just pretty much straight Katria and Cullen in non-canon moments. I’ve written plenty of canon, which you can find in version 1 of [Are We Having Fun Yet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3437933/chapters/7536146).

Upon their meeting, the Herald of Andraste defied all Cullen’s expectations of her—she was not like _either_ version of the mysterious woman he’d been briefed on in Haven’s Chantry. Not the reviled criminal responsible for the explosion at the Conclave or a young noblewoman caught up in the chaos, with a mark that promised to be the end to their problems. 

No, the Herald was not some evil mastermind behind the events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She was just crass and utterly without a moral compass. Yet, not a noblewoman either because in the first few hours he’d known her, she’d cursed and drank, laughed inelegantly, spit in the snow, and spurned all winter-wear except a ratty hunting coat. She was not dainty, or demure, or _anything_ he’d expect from a Free Marcher aristocrat. 

The only thing that made her seem remotely noble was her lack of fighting ability. He’d seen her hovering around his men, watching with rapt attention at how they swung their swords. She could never quite replicate them and complained about how heavy her shield was—the practice one, which would not protect her in the Hinterlands. They would have a long road ahead teaching her to wield a weapon. 

Cullen heard the crunch of snow behind him while he observed the Herald and spotted Cassandra weaving her way through his pairs of practicing soldiers. She only nodded curtly in greeting and stopped beside him. Her mood was especially sour because Chancellor Roderick continued his daily complaints about her decision to establish a formal Inquisition. 

Cullen applauded her for it, though he knew it was not a guarantee they could fix any of their growing list of problems. 

He turned his attention back to the Herald, who had staked her sword in the ground and was leaning against it. Not much of an attention span, he noted. 

“Josephine said she had no training in combat,” Cullen said. “What did she use at the Temple?” 

“A sword and shield,” Cassandra replied. “She was competent, but that is all.” 

He certainly appreciated Cassandra’s honest assessment, given that everyone else seemed particularly enamored with the Herald and the power in her hand. 

“We will have to work with her if you’re to go to the Hinterlands,” he said. “It’s a war zone there.” 

Cassandra shook her head. “There’s no time. I can ensure her safety.” 

Though Cullen was confident Cassandra could take on any enemy presented, that did not mean she could effectively protect herself _and_ someone else. 

“We can’t risk losing that mark, Cassandra.” 

Her tone was clipped. “We will not.” 

By that point, the Herald had disappeared, leaving her sword still upright in the snow. Apparently this woman had little regard for her property or anyone else’s. 

He started when he heard a voice behind them. 

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.” 

Cassandra whirled around while he did the same. It was the Herald. He wondered how she’d gotten around them undetected. 

“Excuse me?” Cassandra said. 

The Herald gestured between them. “You’re talking about me, aren’t you?” she began. “Or do you make a habit of leering at random people in daily conversation?”

“We were merely discussing your past experience with a sword,” Cullen explained. “You have some, yes?” 

She shrugged. “Not really. Must have been the adrenaline that got me through our last fight.” 

Cullen was disappointed to hear that. He hated to think she’d spent her formative years as a noble knitting over tea. “We will outfit you with proper armor. A sword and shield.” 

“Would daggers not be a better option?” she asked. 

He snorted. “You’re far too tall to be a rouge.” 

The Herald seemed equally amused. “Yes. Far too tall.” 

Cassandra interjected, face stoic. “How did you survive in Ferelden for 10 years with so little experience defending yourself?” 

She grinned. “My good looks and charm, of course.”

Cassandra merely grunted in reply. 

“You won’t get along so well with the Templars and mages at war in the Hinterlands,” Cullen remarked. 

Her smile widened. “I actually have an excellent track record with Templars. Seduced many handfuls of them.” 

Cullen frowned. He did not appreciate her bawdy humor—or maybe she was serious, he could never tell. “I expect my men to stay focused on our current task, Herald. Not…dithering.” 

She quirked a dark eyebrow. “Well if they’re busy, I’ll have to entertain myself by dithering with their Commander.” 

Cullen was red—he knew he was red—all the way up to his ears, which could only be partially excused by the cold. He’d spent his entire life within a rigid social and professional structure where people didn’t just _joke_ like the Herald did. Did she have no sense of decorum? 

“I—I-,” 

Cassandra frowned. “She’s messing with you, Cullen.” 

“I am aware,” he sputtered. 

She let out a laugh. “Maker, you two are the least fun people in this camp.” She gestured backwards. “I’m going to find Varric. Or the tavern. You two enjoy discussing how to keep me alive until I’m no longer of use.”

Cullen considered responding to her jab, but she was already gone, turning on one heel and disappearing into his crowds of men. 

Cassandra let out of a huff. “Of all the people to have that mark…” 

“She’s certainly…” Cullen could not think of the right word to convey his thoughts without being impolite. 

“Spirited,” Cassandra finished acridly. “That’s what Josephine calls her.” 

Cullen sighed. “She’s not being downright uncooperative. She hasn’t fled.” 

“Yet.” 

Cullen knew Cassandra was right. The Herald certainly seemed to have a penchant for capriciously disappearing and disobeying orders. Rather than acknowledge that, he instead hoped she would stick around just long enough for them to close the Breach. 

===

_Commander Cullen,_

_Work in the Hinterlands is slow. Controlling the Herald is like herding cats, I believe the phrase is. There’s no other way to describe it. She is apathetic, unapologetic, and her sarcasm has grated my last nerve. She does not help in the fight here, just insists that we engage in combat to solve every little villager’s problem. It is a noble calling, but not one we have time for. When the Herald isn’t collecting blankets or looking for goats, she’s drinking. I’m not sure she brought a single change of clothes. Her bag is just filled with whiskey. The alcohol only exacerbates her unruly behavior. Varric loves it._

_We will be in Redcliffe soon—and Maker granting, we will sort out this mess with the mages. I have tried repeatedly to implore the Herald to practice sparing with me, but she refuses. I have done well enough protecting her for now. Though as my patience wears thin, I may be less inclined to do so._

_Seeker Pentaghast_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments!! Not going to lie, they completely roused me to update faster :D

The Herald’s performance in the Hinterlands was…mediocre. She'd made friends with the villagers in the area, but not many others. Cassandra, Varric, and the apostate elf had been responsible for dispelling the violent bands of mages and Templars from the area, while managing to keep the Herald alive. 

They had horses now, at least. And watchtowers. All helpful things for their cause, but the cohesion of the Herald’s team would not last because Cassandra was ready to kill her. Her letters told a long and painful tale of increasing antagonism between them, not helped by the Herald’s sarcastic attitude. It was good they returned to Haven when they did—some separation might quell the brewing tension.

And there was certainly plenty of separation. Cassandra trained hard and diligently; she kept tabs on every part of the Inquisition—the troops, the spies, even the diplomats. Her path rarely crossed with the Herald’s because the Herald did none of that. Trevelyan spent her time in the tavern, drinking, or with Cullen’s soldiers telling exaggerated tales and inappropriate jokes. Other times, she’d just disappear from the camp, the only sign of her departure her footsteps in freshly fallen snow. She occasionally came back with herbs, but never pelts or meat—Cullen doubted she could defend herself against a wolf or bear if one presented itself. 

The Herald mostly avoided Cullen, as well. She clearly resented him because he was a _former_ Templar, though he did not know why. She directed her ire--her glibness--towards him even though he'd done nothing to her. 

One morning, as he left his own tent after arranging for updates on their supply lines, he spotted Cassandra and the Herald by the training dummies near the Chantry. Cassandra had the Herald by the arm, dragging her quite bodily to the weapons rack. Apparently there had been enough time for them to cool off. 

The Herald wrenched from her grasp, frowning, probably making some asinine comment while Cassandra collected their swords. She tossed one to the Herald, who rather than catching it, let it plop to the ground in the snow. 

Cullen hurried over after seeing the irritated look on Cassandra’s face. The Herald did not need to be berated in front of all his men—she was supposed to be a symbol of hope for the people of Haven. Their chance to end the chaos that had descended upon them since the Conclave. 

Fortunately, Cassandra did not begin to shout. Only watched in contempt as the Herald crossed in front of her, gesturing to the men that were fighting beside them. She was saying something, likely a complaint, but Cullen could not hear her over the clang of swords. 

He quickened his pace as the Herald inched closer to his men—she really should have been paying more attention, but of course she was not used to being around weapons. 

Cullen knew what would happen before the swords near her even moved. Both soldiers pressing in, the cross of the blade above their heads swinging sharply downwards as one gave in. Right onto the Herald. 

Cassandra saw it, too. “Herald, look-,” 

That was too late of a warning, but apparently the Herald did not need one. She was already skirting to one side, and the next thing Cullen knew, she was holding one of the soldiers by the wrist, firmly, keeping his blade from lowering any further. 

The soldier was mortified and released his sword, letting it clatter between their legs. The Herald let go of him, too. She did not look angry and picked up his weapon for him, holding out her other hand reassuringly. He merely took the sword and scampered off, not wanting to be seen as the man who almost bisected the Herald of Andraste. 

Cullen had reached Cassandra by that point, brow furrowed. “That was impressive.” 

The Herald could hear him now. “You give me far too little credit. Are you going to applaud me the next time I make it up a flight of stairs without falling?” 

Cassandra frowned. “Cullen’s right. Impressive, especially for you.” 

She shrugged. “What can I say? Life and death situations, and the warrior inside just leaps out of me.” Her hands rested on her hips after a content sigh left her. “Regardless, I think we’ve done enough training for today.” 

Cassandra lifted her sword, pointing it at her stomach. “Don’t even think about it.” 

The Herald looked at Cullen. “Do you see this belligerence? This is a hostile work environment.” 

“You need to learn to protect yourself.” _Also you deserve it_ , he thought, but would not sink to her level and actually say it. 

She grinned. “If I’m truly the Maker’s Chosen like everyone says, shouldn’t he protect me?” 

“I’m sure his patience is wearing thin,” Cassandra remarked sourly. 

The Herald snorted. “He’d have killed me at the Conclave like everyone else were that true.” 

She had a point, if not a crass one. Cassandra just huffed and shoved the sword back into her hands. Cullen assumed they would be able to play nicely in plain view of everyone, so he returned to the area in front of his tent. He saw a scout waiting for him with an update from Rylen anyway. 

As Cullen accepted the report, he turned back in time to see Cassandra adjust the Herald’s stance. She cut an imposing figure holding the sword and shield, even if she couldn’t wield them. Only a few inches shorter than him, large hands, broad shoulders and strong legs under trousers that didn’t fit right. She _was_ awfully lean for someone with no combat experience. She walked a lot in Ferelden, perhaps. 

Cullen began to wonder if they knew anything at all about this woman. Josephine confirmed her noble lineage, but she disavowed it. She’d had no home in Ferelden, no friends—she was clearly not the trusting sort, and she didn’t trust them. She stayed in Haven to save the world from destruction, for her own interest. And that meant Cullen did not trust her in return. 

===

Cassandra got as far as forcing the Herald into a proper stance before she wandered off to more entertaining pursuits. It frustrated Cassandra, clearly, but she gave up her fruitless task to finish her reports covering their recent trip to the Hinterlands. 

They all met up to discuss those developments a few hours later—himself, Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine. 

The lot of them filed into the make-shift “War Room” in the back of the Chantry, and Josephine looked hopefully at the door as it shut. 

“I extended an invitation to Lady Trevelyan to join us to discuss our next steps.” 

“You really should not call her that,” Leliana remarked. “She hates it.” 

“She won’t come,” Cassandra said. “This is not her area of interest.” 

Cullen grinned wryly. “Yes, no alcohol here.” 

The door swung open as he finished. “Luckily, I brought my own,” the Herald announced, and she in fact waltzed in with a small tumbler of some copper-colored liquid. She proceed to drain the glass in one go and put it down with too much force on their table. 

Josephine smiled. “Lady Trevelyan-,” 

“Katria.” 

She finished, unperturbed. “So wonderful of you to join us.” 

Cassandra did not extend the same polite welcome. “You’re late.” 

“Did I miss the part of the meeting where you complain about me? Or was that the two hour pow-wow from this morning?” 

Leliana shifted from the other side of the table--he was surprised she, and no Josephine, was trying to defuse the situation. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” 

“What’s there to discuss?” the Herald asked. “We go to Val Royeaux. Cassandra persuades with words or force or whatever, and we get the Chantry on our side.” 

“Tensions are high after what happened at the Conclave,” Josephine said. “Especially since some still suspect you of wrongdoing. It will be dangerous.” 

“Despite the danger, the Herald still refuses to train as requested,” Cassandra remarked. 

For the first time, the Herald looked slightly annoyed. “If you’re going to talk about me in the third person when I’m two feet away, could you at least use my _actual_ name?” 

Leliana crossed her arms. “We are not asking you to be proficient with a sword to harass you. That mark, and what we’re doing, puts you in grave danger. Immediate danger that others won’t always be able to protect you from.” 

The Herald gestured to Cassandra. “Then maybe I should be trained by someone who has a little patience for me.” 

“I have been plenty patient with you,” Cassandra snapped. “You are merely-,” 

“I will do it,” Cullen interjected with a sigh, but he dreaded saying it. 

The Herald did not look impressed. “I have no interest in learning to fight like a Templar.” 

“I operate in combat like any warrior,” he replied. “And you need all the help you can get.” 

Josephine scratched a note into her writing board. “I think that’s an excellent idea! You can get a bit more training, then depart for Val Royeaux in three days time. Your supplies should be ready by then.” 

The Herald now looked like she regretted showing up at the meeting just to be snarky. “Goodie,” she muttered. Her eyes flitted over to give him a critical look, and he returned the gesture. He was a glutton for punishment, volunteering to train her, but someone had to do it. And he’d rather not have Cassandra hurt her in an angry fit. At least until the Breach was closed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't promise daily updates all the time, but for now, I've managed! Thanks to all y'all's lovely support!

Cullen tried valiantly to get the Herald to practice with him the very afternoon of their meeting, but she could not be persuaded. He had to admit she was a good liar, offering a slew of excuses and appointments she had that would prevent her from being available to him. He had a feeling all the explanations were a euphemism for “going to the tavern to drink with Varric.” 

She at least promised to be present the next morning—not too early, of course. But it was a start, and once Cullen was wrested awake from his tent by a nightmare, he only had a few hours to wait. 

And wait he did because the Herald did not show up on time. His other men filed out of the barracks, preparing to do their daily tasks and execute various combat drills. Even as they finished, there was still no sign of the Herald. 

Eventually, he spotted her hiking up the slope to his tent from where her cabin was. She didn’t hurry or look in a rush because why would she value his time at all. This put him in no mood, to say the least.

“You’re an hour late,” he remarked curtly once she was close enough. 

She didn’t even feign an apology. Just pulled up the shoulder of her oversized tunic that she’d probably slept in. “I was tired. I had a long night worrying about the giant green hole looming above our heads.”

Cullen sighed with disgust. “You were drinking at the tavern. I saw you.” 

“Couldn’t I have been worrying _at_ the tavern?” she suggested.

He shook his head and turned to grab his blunted sword from where it leaned against a wooden fence. “You’ve wasted my time, Herald, and I’m a busy man.” 

“So why are you bothering to train me?” she asked once he turned. 

“Improving your ability to defend yourself is one of my top priorities,” he said. 

She walked closer. “And you should teach me because—what? You think you’re the best?” 

“No,” he replied. “I trained many recruits in Kirkwall.” 

“Oh, that must be why the mage rebellion ended there so swiftly.” 

Cullen grit his teeth—she would get far too much enjoyment seeing an annoyed look on his face. “Get a sword,” he ordered. “I will not respond to your crass remarks.” 

She walked over and grasped the other blunted sword and shield he’d left out. 

“Although I suppose training your men to be _nicer_ might have helped avoid the rebellion more than training them to bludgeon their problems to death.” 

Cullen squared himself to her—Maker, it was as if she existed solely to grate his nerves. “Luckily for me, you need more training in either category.” 

She had already readied herself in the stance Cassandra had taught her in the Hinterlands, but her lip ticked up in a grin.

“Raise your shield,” he said. 

She frowned and did not comply. “It’s heavy. And utterly useless.” 

“I’m sorry that you’re only used to holding teacups,” he said, as he raised his sword and swung for her. Slowly, and with hardly any force. 

She sidestepped him, an irritated slash between her eyes. Cullen had yet to clap back after all the insults she’d thrown at him. 

“Are you implying I'm weak?” she asked. 

Cullen tried with his sword once more, straight at her, and she merely raised her arm so a metal clang rang out between them. 

He was looking at her directly in the eyes. “Oh no," he said. "Not implying at all. Perhaps we should get you a pair of knitting needles for the battlefield. And a dress with a lace fan?” 

She was mad now—he could see a glint in her eyes that he’d yet to discern the color of. She pushed his sword down with hers, but only because he let her. 

“You'd be surprised what kind of damage I could do with a fan.” 

“To me? Or just my reputation?” He brought his sword forward again to target her right side, expecting her to block him with her shield. 

Instead, she dropped the shield, flipped her sword to her other hand, and used the force of his swing to direct him sideways, exposing his entire side. 

Just before she smacked him hard with the sword she stopped. Her back straightened, and her eyes narrowed slightly. "You do plenty of damage to your reputation yourself, Commander." 

He turned to face her. “Why did you stop?”

She dropped the sword. “I’m done for today.” 

“That was impressive footwork,” Cullen remarked. 

“All nobles are good dancers,” she replied simply—always giving an explanation for all his suspicions. “And for the record, I want a new trainer.”

He had to stop himself from grinning. “We’ll find someone else then.” 

“Great,” she said shortly, and then she was on her way through the muddy snow back to the Chantry. 

Rather than smug, Cullen was only annoyed when she left. That footwork, the fact that she had used the sword in her non-dominant hand—all red flags. And all exposed through easy provocation. The Herald seemed to dislike nobility and the upper-class lifestyle as much as he did. And she apparently couldn’t tolerate even the smallest slight to her ego. About some things, at least. 

===

Fortunately, the Herald’s lack of combat skills was not a problem during their trip to Val Royeaux. Her lack of decorum certainly didn’t endear her to any Templars, but no one got hurt. Cullen was disappointed to see that the Herald was not the only obstinate and childish person involved in this mess—the Seekers and the Order as well were acting bizarre and being uncooperative.

Rather than follow-through with their concern about either group, the Herald insisted on turning her attention back to the Hinterlands. And even as a war raged there, she expressed zero desire to train with him more. He knew he had discovered something about her during their last meeting. A conversation with her would not uncover the whole truth, though. 

Cullen confronted the rest of his team with his suspicions about the Herald. Trevelyan herself only sporadically attended meetings, and usually only to complain. The door to the room was closed, the Chantry almost empty, so he was confident they would not be overheard. 

“The Herald is lying to us,” he declared, as he stepped into the room last of all, even though he was still five minutes early. 

Leliana looked unimpressed. “The list of things she’s lying about is as long as my arm. You’ll have to be more specific.” 

“There’s something odd about the way she fights—or doesn’t fight,” Cullen said. 

“What do you mean?” Josephine asked. 

He frowned. “She’s better than she says she is.”

Josephine shook her head. “I don’t see how that’s possible. Young female nobles are simply not trained-,” 

“Maybe she’s not a noble,” Cassandra interjected. “Maybe she’s masquerading as this Trevelyan in order to cover up a criminal past. Maybe she murdered the real Katria Trevelyan and is secretly working for whoever destroyed the Conclave.” 

“I have done my research, Cassandra,” Leliana insisted. “Don’t let your dislike of her make you paranoid.” 

“Research?” she replied incredulously. “What research is that? You tell us she arrived in Ferelden ten years ago and that she used to be a noble.” She threw her hand up. “Who knows what groups she has been conspiring with since then?” 

Josephine sighed. “We aren’t going to get her to open up by continuing to antagonize and doubt her.” 

“Josie’s right,” Leliana said. 

Cullen frowned. “We aren’t here to make friends. We’re trying to close the Breach.” 

“Well, we need her help,” Josephine replied. “And if she runs off then we will not get it.” 

“What do you suggest?” Cassandra asked. “A tea party?” 

Cullen smirked. “If you replace the tea with alcohol.” 

Leliana crossed her arms. “I have an idea.” She quickly raised her hand. “Not about the friendship with the Herald. I don’t care about that. I meant Cullen’s suspicions about her.” 

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Do we even want to know?”

She grinned. “Oh no. You’ll want it to be a surprise.”

Josephine huffed. “I don’t think this is the best course of action. If we simply-,” 

“We have tried being civil,” Cassandra insisted. “And Trevelyan has done nothing but rebuff our attempts. We will need to root out the truth ourselves if we want to find it.” 

“No one will die,” Leliana remarked, probably trying to be helpful. 

Josephine gave them a critical look. “Coming from you three, that’s not comforting.” 

She was right.


	4. Chapter 4

Cullen still continued his attempts to train the Herald—he often hoped he was wrong about her and that she really did need help. Hoped she was not hiding something or lying, but he was not a trusting person so those thoughts did not often linger. 

Perhaps they all should have let her lie until the truth came out on its own, but the stakes were too high to allow that. He did not necessarily buy into Cassandra’s resentment-filled theories about her, but the fact was there was someone out there who caused all that death and destruction at the Conclave. And though they’d cleared Trevelyan of wrong-doing at first, she was the only survivor. 

He doubted Leliana’s plan would work to discover the truth about the Herald. And she took no action in the week after their meeting, as they all scrambled to figure out what to do with the Tevinter magisters on Redcliffe’s doorstep. Trevelyan’s brief—and sarcastic—two cents on the matter was to help them, but Cullen was certain the haven for the Templars at Therinfall Redoubt would be a better place to put their focus. To his chagrin, no one else seemed to agree. 

The weather was gray when Cullen woke up only three days before the Herald and the others were meant to leave for Redcliffe. He often rose before the sun did, but today it made no different because the clouds replaced the sunlight with a gray haze. Snow began to fall in a sheet over them as his soldiers trudged to their stations. By noon, the paths in Haven were an icy mix of brown and white. 

Cullen was by the outer timber perimeter consulting with one of his lieutenants when he saw a well-groomed horse trotting in behind a supply caravan. Leliana had left her tent to greet the man on the horse, who hopped down and reached for her hand to press his lips against her fingers. 

An Orlesian by that greeting, clearly. Cullen frowned and had decided not to walk over to investigate—he dealt with far too many Orlesians—but Leliana spotted him, then gestured him over. 

He wearily complied. Leliana spoke just as the man’s horse was being escorted to Dennett’s stables. 

“Commander Cullen, I’d like you to meet Bertrand Guerin.” 

Cullen extended his hand—hoping it would not be kissed—and to his relief Guerin took it with his own in a firm shake. The man was armed with quite the collection of knives across his chest. He was short, with lean arms and stout legs under finely tailored clothing. 

“What’s your business in Haven?” Cullen asked. 

Leliana’s lip quirked up in a smile, but before she could respond, the Herald was clopping down the stairs beside them. She had a gray scarf wrapped around her neck, but the same ratty jacket dotted with snow at her shoulders. 

“Got your note, Spymaster,” she said. “Have we not met our veiled threat quota for the week?” 

Leliana gestured to Geurin. “I asked you here to introduce you to someone. Bertrand, this is Lady Trevelyan.” 

“It’s Katria,” she interjected, though made no move to greet Guerin. “Really just anything other than Lady Trevelyan. I’d take _hey idiot_ at this point.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cullen remarked, and she only glared at him. 

“Bertrand here is your new bodyguard,” Leliana explained. 

That make Cullen smile. Maker, would Trevelyan hate the idea of someone following her around all the time to protect her. He tried to stifle his laugh. 

Trevelyan was obviously not entertained. Her brow creased. “ _Bodyguard_? I don’t—need a bodyguard.” 

“Cassandra cannot be tasked with protecting you in Haven,” Leliana said. “Someone has to do it.” 

“I can protect myself,” Trevelyan insisted. “Plus, it’s perfectly safe here.”

Leliana shook her head. “There are plenty across Thedas who still think you are responsible for what happened at the Conclave. Who see you as a heretic. It’s best to be cautious.” 

“I agree,” Cullen said, which earned him another glare. 

Trevelyan scanned Guerin with an exasperated look. “Oh come on, this guy can’t protect me. He’s Orlesian, and a—a duelist or something.” 

Guerin frowned. “I have won the Grand Tourney, my lady.”

She raised a finger. “Katria. And Talisa of Sundarin won it twice, why couldn’t we get her?” 

“She died fifty years ago,” Leliana said. 

“How would you even know whose won the Grand Tourney the most?” Cullen asked. 

She ignored him. “What is he even supposed to do? Follow behind me in Haven like some neglected puppy?” She gestured to him. “Isn’t this…below your station or something?” 

Guerin gave a thin smile. “I am being paid handsomely for putting up with you, and it is only until you learn to defend yourself.” 

“I can-,” She stopped, jaw clenched. Her eyes snapped to Leliana. “Is he going to watch me while I sleep, too? What if I want to bring a gentleman to my cabin—is he going to supervise from outside the window like some creep?” 

Leliana smirked. “Sounds like you could put on quite a show for him.” 

“That’s not funny,” Katria said, scowling. 

“I thought everything was funny to you.” 

She crossed her arms, shoulders back. Cullen noticed that she and Guerin were almost the same height. 

“I won’t allow this.” 

“Well, unfortunately that’s not your call to make,” Leliana said. “You don’t get to decide who can come in and out of Haven.” 

“Yes, but I can decide if I’m _in_ Haven,” she replied.

Leliana shrugged. “Do what you want. It’s entirely fair for us to want to ensure your safety, given your lack of expertise fighting.” 

Cullen patted her on the back. “But if we need any help planning a tea party, we’ll let you take on that alone.” 

She practically bared her teeth at him, then looked at Leliana. “If you find Commander Cullen dead in his tent tomorrow morning, it was me.” She wrapped her coat tighter around her middle, and realizing there was no fight to be won, stalked off back up the stairs. 

Cullen looked at his boots, trying to hide his smile. “I can’t pretend I didn’t enjoy that a little.” 

Leliana raised an eyebrow. “It seems to be getting the job done.” She turned to Guerin. “I had your things delivered to the tent beside the Herald’s cabin.” 

“A tent?” he began incredulously. “You expect me to sleep in a tent?” 

Leliana put one hand on her hip. “If you can press her buttons enough today, you could be out of here before you have to sleep anywhere.” 

Guerin just huffed and strode off along the wall towards the Chantry. Cullen watched him leave with a quizzical look. 

“Just annoying her surely won’t get us what we want.” 

Leliana nodded. “After what you said, I took to studying the Herald. If she has any combat experience, it’s not as a warrior. She has the wrong build for it and genuinely does not know how to use a shield.” 

“What if she’s an archer?” Cullen asked. “Some nobles do that for sport.” 

Leliana raised her gloved hand, palms open. “She has the wrong callouses on her hands.” 

Cullen gestured to where Guerin had been. “So you bring in a rogue to…?” 

“Trevelyan’s confident about the skills she has disclosed having. Which mostly involves drinking any of your soldiers under the table,” Leliana said. “Either way, she has an ego. One which will be especially grated by an obnoxious Orlesian man who thinks he’s the best duelist in Thedas.” 

He shook his head. “You really think she can be baited like that?” 

“Oh, I am quite confident in her childish need to prove herself when challenged,” Leliana said. 

Cullen ran his hand through his hair—it was wet from the snow, and he hoped it wasn’t messing too much with how carefully he’d styled it that morning. 

“And what if this works and we do get her to admit that she’s experienced in combat?” he asked. “Then what?” 

Leliana sighed. “Then maybe we can coerce more of the truth from her. Where she learned this training. Why she was at the Conclave. If she really is who she says she is.” 

“Josephine would not approve of our methods,” he remarked. 

“Oh, no,” she admitted. “Josie is all ‘niceness before knives,’ Leliana, but we don’t have time to get the Herald to warm up to us. The Breach needs to be closed. Right now.” 

“I agree,” Cullen said. He smiled slightly when he saw the Herald passing by the upper landing, clearly still annoyed. “So how long until she cracks do you think?” 

Leliana grinned herself. “A few days at most.” 

That was a generous assessment. The Herald had such a chip on her shoulder, Cullen figured it would only be a matter of hours. 

===

Katria Trevelyan knew exactly what it was the Inquisition leaders were trying to do to her. They wanted the truth—and to be as annoying as possible trying to get it. 

Their weariness of her was…understandable. Ever since she met them all—when she was shackled in a dungeon—she’d been hostile to them. She was hostile to anything that the Chantry branded its name on, and this Inquisition was no exception. 

How could she be expected to trust the people who imprisoned her? When had the Chantry _ever_ known what was best for anyone? 

They said they wanted to save Thedas from destruction. That they wanted her help. They wanted her hand. If that Commander Cullen could take the mark with a sword and have it still work, he would. She might too, just to escape from this place.

It was only her barest sliver of morality that made her stay. The black and white truth was that she was the only person who could close the Breach, and if she didn’t, more people would die. The world as they know it might even end, and if that happened, where would she drink? 

Just because for once in Katria’s life she was doing the right thing did not mean she wasn’t going to leave the second all this resolved itself. Once the Breach was closed, she would ride off into the sunset while the remainder of the Inquisition squabbled about mages and Templars and whoever it was blew up the Temple in the first place. 

Katria settled down by the firepit that Varric frequented, annoyed more than ever after being introduced to her bodyguard. Varric wasn’t there at the moment—Bianca needed prep for the Hinterlands—so she sat alone and loosened her scarf from around her neck. 

Snow crunched under fine leather boots behind her, then Guerin appeared. His hair was close cut to his temple, but he probably still used product in it. Well-groomed mustache. Tailor-made clothes. He wouldn’t last one day in Haven. 

She crossed her arms and leaned back. “I hope you realize there’s no amount of gold that would make it worth putting up with me.” 

He smirked. “So confident, my lady.” 

“Katria.” 

He settled primly on the seat beside her. “You’re wrong, though, because I’ve been offered exactly the right amount of gold to be a glorified babysitter to a middle-aged woman with a drinking problem.” 

She knew he was needling her and tried not to be offended because 31 was not middle-aged. She put her palm against her knee and turned to him. “So they’ve told you all about me, I guess?” 

“It’s only about two sentences worth of information, so yes,” he said. 

She gestured to where Leliana and Cullen had been standing before. “And I guess they also told you I’m lying as a part of some larger conspiracy against the Inquisition?” 

“No,” he said. “I was merely ordered to watch over you in case someone attempts an assassination. You don’t have many friends in Val Royeaux, I’m afraid.” 

“You don’t think I can take care of myself?” she asked. “What if I’m secretly a talented rogue myself?” 

He chuckled. “No, I would not believe that.” 

“And why not?” she deadpanned, mouth scrunched in displeasure. 

“You’re a woman-,”

“Wow.”

“-from the Free Marches. I can’t think of a worse combination for having any aptitude for the sword. You see, when I won the Grand Tourney-,” 

Katria slapped her hands against her thighs and stood. “Damn, did Leliana do a good job picking you.” 

He did not seem to notice she was irritated and only nodded. “I am the best at what I do.”

She pointed backwards. “I’m going to go to the tavern for a drink, hoping that someone does attempt an assassination to put me out of my misery.” 

“I would stop them,” he said. 

“Let’s hope not,” she muttered, turning on her heel and sloshing through the dirt and snow in her already scuffed boots. 

Leliana’s silly little plan would not work, but it was not stupid. Katria had few skills, and fighting was actually, genuinely one of them. When she’d been in Ferelden, she enjoyed bragging about it and showing off pretty much all the time. 

But when Katria woke up in chains after the Conclave, it felt much smarter to let her captors assume she was a docile noble. The docile part of the reputation did not last long, but she preferred to be underestimated as a fighter. If she needed to make a quick escape, it was comforting knowing that the handful of soldiers sent after her would be no match for her actual skills. So she’d cowered behind Cassandra in the Hinterlands, letting them fight the mages and Templars because it was better to let everyone think she was someone she wasn’t. 

The only problem was that Knight-Captain Cullen was as shrewd as he was uptight. She avoided him except to grate his nerves—which greatly passed the time when she was bored—and yet he had still easily surmised she was a liar. 

The easy solution was to just admit—yes—she was a rogue. Yes, she knew her way around a sword. And yes, she could give even Cassandra a run for her money. But the damage had already been done. One lie would lead to accusations of more lies, and then she’d be shackled in that dungeon again because none of the Inquisition leaders seemed fully convinced she was who she said. 

She did not blame them. Her noble habits had been ground out of her the minute she’d hit adulthood and fled to Ferelden. She preferred it that way. Josephine didn’t, of course, but she had not asked to be adored by the people in Haven like some reborn saint. And reviled by everyone else. 

To her great disappointment, she heard Guerin stand up from the fire and follow her to the tavern. He’d probably insist on drinking expensive wine while she tried to pretend he wasn’t there. 

Katria realized she would have to be proactive if she wanted to get Guerin out of Haven. Something to establish her dominance over the group of people who thought they could control her. Who thought they knew her. 

She just couldn’t let Guerin annoy her too much first.


	5. Chapter 5

The tension in Haven peaked on the eve of the Herald’s trip to Redcliffe. Everyone knew what facing the magisters meant—danger, fighting, contending with whatever magic was being tampered with—and the Herald was as apathetic as ever. 

Despite the coming fight, Cullen continued his valiant attempts to convince the others to side with the Templars. Redcliffe was a fortress that had withstood countless battles, the Blight, how could even Cassandra expect to waltz in and bring the current occupants to their knees?

When no one would listen to him, Leliana began the process of trying to procure accurate schematics of the castle. Cullen had thought she was successful when the Spymaster called a meeting, but when he walked into the back of the Chantry, he only saw their regular map of Thedas on the table. 

The others were already waiting for him, and he frowned. “I thought we would-,” 

“Guerin quit,” Leliana announced. 

His frown deepened. He’d hoped to not deal with this nonsense with the Herald any longer, to focus on the actual battle that would soon be raging. But if he quit, who was to protect her at Redcliffe? 

“It’s been two days,” he said. “She wore him down already?”

“In a sense.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow. “What’re you-,”

The door flew open beside him, and he stepped aside so it would crash into the wall rather than him. Trevelyan entered the room, snow speckling her dark hair. 

“So sad to see Bertrand go, wasn’t it?” she remarked with a smile. 

Leliana crossed her arms. “Seems like you’re the most disappointed of us all.” 

She shrugged. “Well, once I figured out his real purpose, I didn’t see any reason for him to stick around.” 

Cassandra scowled. “Is anyone going to tell us what happened?” 

Leliana sighed, while Josephine flushed red and looked more intently at her writing board. “She slept with him.” 

“And?” Cullen asked incredulously. 

Josephine peeked up. “He is married so-,”

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered. 

Cassandra spun to the Herald, disgusted. “Did you blackmail him?” 

“Definitely,” she said. “In my defense, the guy is an arse. He slept with Flissa his first night here, and she wouldn’t take the bait for blackmail, so…” She put her hands on her hips. “You know what they say, if you want anything done, you’ve got to do it yourself.” 

“So you slept with him and threatened to tell his wife unless he left?” Cullen asked. 

“I am telling his wife either way because she is clearly better off without him,” she explained. “Like I said, arse. But he doesn’t need to know that.” 

“You’re insufferable,” Cullen muttered. 

She took a defensive stance. “Hey, I’m not the one who brought him here. And I resent the fact that _I’m_ suddenly the bad guy, when Leliana had the gall to make me go to bed with an Orlesian just to get him off my back. Physically and metaphorically, as it were.” 

“We tire of your jokes, Herald,” Cassandra snapped. 

“Well I’m tired of your scheming,” she shot back. 

Josephine hopped forward to intervene. “We owe you an apology, Lady Trevelyan. I believe—we believe that it was wrong to conspire behind your back about this.” 

Cullen did not in fact believe it was wrong to conspire behind her back, but said nothing.

“Listen, I know what you all want, but for the hundredth time, I don’t have any experience in combat,” Katria said. 

“How can you stand here and lie to us like this?” Cassandra demanded. 

“I’m not lying,” she said exasperatedly. 

“We know that you are,” Cullen insisted. 

“Prove it,” she said, eyes defiant, and for a moment the leather of his gloves tightened as he squeezed his sword. 

She noticed and snorted. “What are you going do, pull out your sword and fight me?” 

“I’d win,” he said. 

“I know,” she replied. “Do you make a habit of threatening defenseless women?” 

“You’re not a woman, you’re an evil spirit spat out from the Fade,” he snapped. 

She grinned. “Yes, I’ve come at the behest of the demon of all things ugly. He wants his coat back.”

Cullen scowled, jaw clenched, but Josephine intervened again. “Let’s not insult one another.” 

“I wasn’t insulting him, I was insulting his coat,” she pointed out. “Though I have thought of some wonderful-,” 

Josephine’s tone sharpened. “Lady Trevelyan.” 

The Herald did not care. “Katria.” 

Cassandra made a frustrated sound. “Who do you expect to protect you at Redcliffe now that the Orlesian is gone? The rest of us will have enough to deal with.”

“Who says we’re fighting?” she asked. “Perhaps the magisters will respond to persuasion.” 

“That’s your plan?” Cullen began. “To _ask_ them to stop?” 

“I didn’t ask for your opinion on the matter,” she replied flippantly. 

Cullen crossed his arms. “I’m an advisor. Why do you think I was brought here? Why do you think I’m standing in this room?” 

“To look pretty?” she suggested. “Good work, by the way.” 

Leliana leaned forward with her palms against the table. “Maker, Trevelyan, you _must_ take this more seriously.” 

The Herald’s already thin lips tightened. “I am ready,” she said. “Nothing will befall me there.” She raised her hand to them, glowing and cackling green. “Or more accurately, nothing will befall my hand. That’s all you lot care about anyway.” 

The others said nothing to that—maybe it was true—but they didn’t have time anyway because the Herald had retreated, stalking back through the door and letting it slam behind her. 

Cullen tried not to let his irritation with the Herald distract him for the rest of their meeting—because they did continue on without her. It would do little good to wait for her to cooperate. 

Maker, he could not begin to understand how someone could be so obstinate with such threats looming. Literally above their heads. Distrust was one thing, but the Herald was downright hostile.  
Perhaps she would come to her senses eventually. He doubted it. He then wondered if maybe they would be better off with just her hand after all. 

===

To Cullen, the events at Redcliffe could only be described as a magnificent clusterfuck. Ravens flew to Haven in a constant stream afterwards—letters from Cassandra and the others that helped them piece together an incomplete picture of what had happened there. Something about time-travel. The Herald and that Tevinter mage being catapulted to a bleak future. 

Then, of course, the cherry on top was the Herald offering an _alliance_ to the mages. After Fiona had freely accepted the help of corrupted magisters and made a fatal mistake, thanks to Trevelyan, they were absolved of their wrongdoing and marching to Haven. 

His mere irritation with the Herald transformed to fury at that news. She had been nothing but apathetic to their planning, absent at their meetings, and she had the gall to make executive decisions for the Inquisition. With no input from them. Her choice had been irrational and hasty, and in Cullen’s mind, it spelled their doom.

Trevelyan and the others finally arrived at nightfall—the camp quiet, except for the crackling of torches and the footsteps of his soldiers on patrol. Josephine and Leliana waited inside the Chantry just beyond the door, but Cullen ventured into the snow. He need the full story from Cassandra, not just pieces. 

He spotted them by the stables, Cassandra already settled and clearly waiting impatiently for the Herald. Varric, Blackwall, and that mage—Dorian—were trudging in the other direction towards their cabins. 

Cullen hurried over to Cassandra. “You made good time.” 

Her expression was grave. “We have much to discuss.” 

“Josephine says we cannot withdraw our offer to the mages,” he said. “Her offer.”

“Oh, I know,” Cassandra said, frown deeper. 

The Herald finally shuffled out after returning her supplies. Her shoulders were hunched, face pale and vacant, though her nose did crinkle upon seeing him. 

“You’re the last person I would choose for my welcome party,” she remarked. 

“We aren’t here to celebrate your return,” he snapped. 

Trevelyan scowled. “You should be celebrating my survival,” she said. “It’s the only thing keeping you and your friends from being six feet under.” 

“Is that a threat?” he asked incredulously. 

“It’s the truth,” she shot back. 

Cassandra threw her hand out towards the Chantry. “Enough arguing. We need to get inside and discuss this.” 

She turned away. “I’m not in the mood. We will start tomorrow.” 

Cullen clenched his fist—Maker, was he tired of her, especially now since she seemed to believe she could call the shots. 

He grabbed her wrist. “You allied with the mages, and yet what’s at stake-,” 

To his utter surprise, she wheeled back around, hand splayed flat. She shoved him briefly, but hard. Hard enough that one foot staggered back to catch his balance. 

“You don’t tell _me_ what’s at stake,” she growled, eyes glittering in the torchlight. “I saw it. And you have no-,” She seemed to realized how serious she was being, the level of emotion in her voice. 

Her jaw snapped shut, hand dropping. She took one tentative step back, untangling from the tense silence between them. Then she continued her march down the path to her cabin. Cullen was shaken by her outburst, so he did not follow. 

He shook his head and turned to Cassandra. “What in the Void was that about?” 

Cassandra did not look angry, only concerned. “I will explain. Come.” 

Cullen followed her back into the Chantry, leaving the Herald alone in the snow.


	6. Chapter 6

Katria did not enjoy the warmth of her cabin once she reached it. No, the red lyrium had been warm, so the fire in the hearth only reminded her of the sticky heat all around her when she and Dorian had been flung through time to a future she had never considered. 

She found some whiskey without even shrugging off her jacket. She merely slumped in her rickety wooden chair and drank from the bottle even though Josephine had gotten her tumblers to be more civilized.   
When she heard her doorknob jingle, she immediately tensed, fearing it was Cullen back to berate her further for her choices. Instead, Dorian appeared, gliding into the room with an airy expression. Not at all like they’d just fought for their lives and almost lost. 

“When Varric told me that you were the Herald of Andraste I’d heard so much about, I thought he was joking,” he said. 

He was not one for greetings, she noticed. She rested her muddy boot on the edge of the table in front of her.

“If only this were a joke.” 

He continued as he settled down opposite her. “We had heard the Herald was a Free Marcher noble. So I expected someone as glamorous and well-dressed as me.” 

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she muttered. 

Dorian leaned forward to pry her bottle from her hand—she almost immediately protested, except he went to pour them each a glass of the remaining liquid. “Oh, I prefer your apostate hobo look. Less to compete with. What really surprised me was seeing you cut a man’s throat like you’ve done it a thousand times.” 

Katria froze, not taking the glass he pushed over to her, even though she wanted to. With only herself and a mage in that dark future, Katria had been forced to fight as she was trained. Once the timeline was reset, no one but Dorian remembered. 

“I don’t suppose I could chalk that up to time-travel magic?” 

He snorted. “No. Though you could say your training has _really_ paid off.” 

She finally reached for her drink, the glass biting cold against her fingers. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?” 

“What, that you’re actually decently good with a blade?” he began, then shrugged. “No, I guess if you don’t want me too.” 

Katria sighed. “I’m…not sure,” she muttered. “I—I lied at first because it was nice to have an escape plan. If I needed an out, it’s easier to be underestimated.” 

He sipped his drink. “And now?”

She pressed the heel of her palm into her temple. “You saw that future. I can’t leave even if _they_ want me to. It all…”

“Depends on you,” he finished. 

Katria stood, walking to the window that was prickled with frost. “We’ve allied with the mages. It will be over soon. That future won’t come to pass.” 

“Your offer of an alliance didn’t seem welcome here,” Dorian remarked. 

That was an understatement. Cassandra had been furious. Cullen even more. “Back at Redcliffe, I wasn’t thinking about what the others would want,” she said. “I’m not really used to—teamwork.” 

“Do you think you made the wrong choice?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, turning. “We can’t expect loyalty from people who owe us a debt. Plus, the mages have every right to be wary of the Inquisition. It’s borne from the Chantry, and they’ve been fucked over by those guys since the beginning of time. Templars too.” She scratched the scar on her cheek. “An alliance is more…comforting.” 

Dorian had drained his glass faster than her. “You’ve got my help if you want it. Though an alliance with a Tevinter mage probably isn’t any more welcome.” 

“I appreciate it regardless,” she said, tipping her glass towards him. “You’ve got good taste in liquor.” 

He grinned. “You don’t even know the half of it, my dear.” 

Dorian stood and passed her, reaching for the door. Probably to locate the accommodations he’d requested in Haven—the finest they had. 

Katria stayed where she was and watched his blurry shadow cross in front of her window and disappear back up the path. She finally surrendered her coat, and a few daggers she’d collected in Redcliffe clattered to the table. 

She doubted Cassandra and Cullen could be any angrier than they already were. But the fact was, there was no going back on the alliance with the mages. What’s done was done. They needed to move forward to mop up this mess, so Katria could move on with her life. Return to her status in Ferelden as an unimportant migrant. A shadow. 

Not the person who the entirely of Thedas depended upon. 

===

Katria pretended to sleep that night, but she was only waiting restless in her narrow cot for light to stream through the window—a sign she could exit her cabin and try to feign normalcy. She scrubbed herself clean first, to get the demon gunk and red lyrium dust off her skin, even if she still felt it there when she dried off. 

She donned her coat, and then her new daggers. She was determined to hide no longer, if only to facilitate cooperation between herself and the Inquisition and end things sooner. Then she’d get to leave them, which is what everyone wanted. 

Katria ventured out to where the soldiers routinely practiced, spotting Cullen, as always, among them. He looked especially tired that morning. She made her way over to stand beside him, hands behind her back. 

He said nothing, though she saw his square jaw tighten under his stubble. Still clearly annoyed after last night. Together, they watched one of Leliana’s agents—Foster—training some new recruits. 

She finally spoke. “Foster’s no good at that.” 

“At what?” Cullen said. 

She gestured vaguely. “Training other people. He’s got some of the worst footwork I’ve ever seen. He’s just fast, is all.” 

“Leliana thinks he is one of her best,” he said. 

“He’s predictable,” Katria countered. 

“And you would know,” he began. “You’re the expert?” 

She hesitated, teeth clenched. “Yeah.” 

Cullen said nothing at first, but his shoulders did shrink. “Am I supposed to faint from shock now?” 

Katria sighed. “I was only trying to keep my options open.” 

“You don’t make sense as a rogue,” he said, finally turning and irritated. “You’re too tall and take up too much space.” 

“I’m plenty competent I can assure you,” she replied coolly. 

“Maybe you’re lying about that, too,” he muttered. 

“I am-,” A frustrated breath left her nose. “Fine. I’ll show you.” 

“Of course you will.” 

Katria glared at him before marching over to Foster. She shooed away the younger girl he was training and pointed. “Come on, let’s go.” 

He lowered his daggers. “Excuse me, my lady?” 

Her jaw tightened. “Show me your best moves.” 

“But you’re not armed,” he protested, brow creased. 

“So then this should be easy for you,” she said. “Now you play hard or I’ll get you in serious trouble with our Spymaster.” 

“Uh, yes, Your Worship,” he stammered. 

Katria realized that would not be persuasive. “And Andraste, I’ll get you in trouble with her, too. Since I’m her Herald. You want me to get better, right?”

“Of course,” he said. 

He still hesitated, but did make a move forward, paying little attention to his feet as she suspected. Foster was quick—really quick—so it made sense that with almost everyone, he wouldn’t have to care about form. But bad habits like those didn’t make the best fighters. Just decent ones. 

Foster was also right-handed, which put him at a disadvantage because Katria had dueled many right-handed men who didn’t think strategically about how they used their blades. 

The poor boy was nice enough to come at her seriously even as she held no weapons—maybe he wanted to brag to his friends later—but instead of his blade making contact, he got a sharp elbow to the side, a foot in the crook of his knee before he collapsed to the ground with Katria behind him. 

She put his own blade to his neck; he hadn’t even been holding it right. “You really do have a lot of promise, Foster.” 

He craned his neck around, eyes surprised, before he accepted his blade back when she offered it to him. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-,” 

“We’ll work on it,” she said. 

Cullen crossed his arms. “Maker, I knew you were a show-off.” 

She grinned. “So you’re saying it was impressive?” 

He reached out and grabbed her by her elbow. He dragged her along the path near the stables, where he could berate her in private while she maintained her holy reputation. 

“You lied,” he hissed. “You put your entire team at risk for—for a spectacle.” 

She looked down and tried to stamp off the hay that had gotten on her boot. “No one was ever at risk. I would have intervened in the Hinterlands in a fight if necessary.” 

He scowled. “It was reckless and asinine and-,” 

Katria continued, ignoring him. “ _Second_ of all, I didn’t do this because I wanted attention.” 

“Oh, so you just enjoy hampering our efforts to save all of Thedas from destruction?” he asked derisively.

“Who in the Void put you in charge of that?” she snapped. 

“We are the Inquisition,” he replied, like she was an idiot. 

“Which _you_ decided!” she said. “And I’m supposed to be _grateful_ you extended an invitation to join your crazed religious campaign.”

His brow furrowed. “Is that what you really think?” 

She shifted back. “I don’t know what to think.” She clenched her jaw. “I’ve heard the way you all talk about me. Like I’m some animal that needs training or just a hand with magic that will solve your problems.” 

“That’s not-,” 

She waved her hand dismissively. “I much preferred you thinking I was an incompetent fighter, so if the need arose, I could make my escape more easily.” 

Cullen exhaled through his nose. “We never had any plans to hurt you.” 

“I’m supposed to take your word for that?” 

“We’re not bad people,” he protested. 

She let her arms fall to her side. “I don’t know what kind of people you are. And it doesn’t matter because after ten years in Ferelden, I’m seen my fair share of good people do bad things when pressed.” 

Cullen shook his head. “We asked you to join our team, not be a servant to it. The only difficulties we’ve had are from your behavior.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t fall in line as well as you, Templar,” she said. “I know how good you are at following even the worst of orders.” 

“Do not make this about me,” he ordered, finger pointing at her, forcing her to lean back into the hay piled high in the corner. The horse in the stable beside them snorted and shook its mane as she got closer. 

“Why not?” she demanded. “How are my little white lies somehow worse than what you did all those years in the Circle?” 

“One of those is none of your business,” he snapped. “And the other is happening _right now_ when we need to close the hole in the sky.” 

“I am helping with that,” she insisted. 

His brow arched sharply in. “You have been systematically hindering every attempt the Inquisition has made to help anyone.” 

She put one hand on her hip. “I went to the Hinterlands-,” 

“To drink.” 

“While you sat around in Haven plotting petty ways to prove me wrong,” she finished. 

“That was Leliana,” he said. “And we only did it because if we knew the _truth_ about you, maybe you’d start to take our mission seriously.” 

“Maker’s balls, I’m here, aren’t I?” she began exasperatedly. She crossed in front of him to the other side of the stable—the smell of horse was giving her a headache. Or maybe Cullen was. “I haven’t fled no matter how many times I’ve wanted to.” 

“How comforting,” he sneered, eyes following her. 

“I realize that I am not living up to your impossible standards,” she said. 

He gave a sharp laugh. “Impossible standards? How is not lying an impossible standard? Showing up to our meetings to do more than make snotty comments or-,” 

“Is this the part in the conversation where you share the list you’ve brainstormed of the things wrong with me?” she asked sarcastically. 

“I have something to do in an hour so there’d hardly be time,” he said. 

Katria threw her hands up with a snort. Cullen was certainly far wittier than she gave him credit for. “I’m sorry that I’m not perfect. That I’m not the _actual_ Herald of Andraste or Andraste herself.” 

“I was only hoping for basic human decency at this point,” he said. 

She clenched her jaw. She was done with this conversation. In addition to being insulting, it was venturing into dangerous territory where she defended her actions based on personal details about herself. 

“You know, I liked you better when you just looked handsome and glared at me from far away,” she snapped. She was sure to literally push past him in her retreat, bumping him in the shoulder on her way out of the stables. 

He didn’t follow her, didn’t even try to get in the last word. 

Still, she was annoyed that this Inquisition was closer to the truth about her. Each lie she told chipped away, leaving—well, the real her. And she didn’t trust these people, so why should they know who that was?


	7. Chapter 7

Cullen knew his conversation with the Herald had not been any help to the Inquisition. He knew before he spoke to anyone else that the proper response would have been to calmly accept her disclosure about her skills and then delve further. Figure out exactly _why_ some noble Free Marcher was a scrappy rogue. A mysterious wanderer. 

Instead, he’d berated her. Because all he’d thought about the night before their conversation were the liabilities of having the Redcliffe mages at his camp. For the Maker’s sake, the Veil was _torn open_. The mages were at an incredible risk for possession, and he had no Templars to keep that under control. Because the Inquisition had abandoned them all at Therinfall Redoubt to save Fiona from her own mistakes.

He could appreciate that perhaps he was biased, being a former Templar himself, but no matter who Trevelyan sided with, she had no right to make that decision alone. Yet she had and left them to deal with the fallout while she scampered away like a coward. 

Cullen let these thoughts stew through the morning, while Foster and those who saw the Herald told everyone else how she’d put on a little show for them. He did not even know if what he saw meant she was good in combat; maybe she’d just picked up some parlor tricks and never faced what he would call a real battle. 

Either way, what she’d said merited a discussion with the other leaders of the Inquisition. He met them in the Chantry just as the sun was to set. He was happy to be in from the cold—the old brick protected him from the wind that had been whipping through his coat all day. 

For once, Leliana was the last one to arrive. “The Herald has not returned to camp.” 

“It’s almost dark,” Josephine said, brow puckered in concern. “Should we try to find her?” 

“She can defend herself, apparently,” Cullen remarked sourly. 

Leliana passed him to stand on the other side of the table. Obviously they had all heard—or seen—the news by that point. “Foster is one of my best. He promised me he was trying.” 

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Cassandra protested. “I’m sure she’s just picked up some flashy moves to show off in taverns.” 

Leliana shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?” 

Josephine gave him an earnest look. “Did Lady Trevelyan give you any additional information when you talked to her this morning?” 

“Er—no,” he said, clearing his throat. “It wasn’t…so much a conversation as an argument.” 

“Is that why she stormed off?” Cassandra asked. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “And frankly I don’t care.” 

Leliana shook her head. “I understand you’re upset about the alliance with Fiona, but we must move past it eventually.” 

Cullen frowned—it had happened only yesterday, so he felt completely justified still being frustrated at Trevelyan’s error. Of course Leliana did not think of it as an error; she supported it. Perhaps that’s why her ire against the Herald was not so strong. 

“I will track her down,” he said. “Meanwhile, you all should discuss our plans for the Storm Coast. Perhaps the Herald can be persuaded to go.” 

“Be careful out there!” Josephine called after him, as he turned to leave. He almost laughed at the idea that a little darkness required caution. If only Josephine knew what he had faced. 

Cullen visited the Herald’s cabin first, just to check that she hadn’t somehow holed herself up there to drink herself into oblivion. The room was empty when he peeked inside. And barren. Despite living there for almost three months, she had collected little. Threadbare clothes. Some glasses. An empty whiskey bottle. She didn’t even have a mirror. She was not making Haven her home that was for sure. 

He noticed her jacket draped over a chair and went to grab it as he left. She wouldn’t be much good to them frozen solid. 

At the gates of Haven, there were too many footprints in the snow for him to discern which way the Herald went. He thought perhaps it was a fool’s errand to try and find her, but he set off for the forest anyway. By that time, the sky was painted pink and yellow behind the gray clouds that almost always hung on the horizon this time of year. To the left in the sky, there was nothing but green. He rarely looked that way, though. 

The spindly trees surrounding him did little to block the wind that picked up as it got darker—slicing right through his coat and even his armor. He eventually reached a clearing: a lake half covered in snow and frozen solid. There was a neglected dock—really just a few pieces of rotted wood—and a circle of boulders near him. A person was nestled in between, shoulders hunched, but he recognized the dark waves obscuring the woman’s face. 

Cullen trudged through the snow until he reached the Herald—she must have heard him coming, but she didn’t move. 

He threw her jacket down beside her, sending snow across his boots and her trousers. 

“You planning on freezing to death out here?” 

She straightened slightly. “As if you cared.” 

“Despite what you may think, I’m not a total arse,” he said. 

“That is actually _exactly_ what I think.”

He exhaled sharply, a white stream from his nose. “Listen, I am—I regret what I said this morning. I was frustrated but that’s no excuse.” 

“It hardly matters,” she said, mouth pursed. “This will all be over soon.” 

Cullen sighed. “Tell me where you learned to fight.” 

He half-expected her to immediately reject him, but instead she was quiet. Eventually she gave a resigned shrug. 

“I asked my father to bring an Orlesian duelist to the Free Marches to train me when I was 10,” she said. 

“And he did?” Cullen asked. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Lord Trevelyan didn’t give two shits about me. Especially after my older brother died. I think he was half-hoping I’d impale myself with my own dagger while I practiced.” 

He shook his head. “Orlesian dueling is not fighting—its…silly performances.” 

Her eyes flitted over to him. “Spoken like a true Fereldan.” She stretched back, hands along her thighs. “Though partially true. My skills weren’t much use until I adapted them to mercenary work.” 

“What could compel you to leave the Free Marches and become a mercenary in Ferelden?” he asked. 

Her jaw tightened, but she responded. “My sister absconded to Orlais with my inheritance when my father died. I had nothing left in Ostwick.” 

“Lovely family,” he muttered. 

She smiled slightly at that, a short laugh leaving her. “You can’t even imagine.” 

He moved to the next—and most important—question. “Why were you at the Conclave? We had no need for mercenaries there.” 

“I was telling the truth about that,” she said immediately. “I was hired to be a scribe.” She paused, then titled her head slightly. “A job I may have taken for the sole purpose of picking-pockets in the church, but other than that, nothing nefarious.” 

Cullen was not surprised to hear that admission. “And you really don’t remember anything?” 

“No,” she insisted. “I was in the Temple of Sacred Ashes and then—nothing.” 

Cullen put his other arm on his knee. “Was that so hard? Telling the truth?” 

“Yeah, actually,” she said. “You think its fun for me to talk about being a neglected child, betrayed as an adult by my last living family member?” 

“I didn’t mean-,”

Trevelyan abruptly stood, picking up her coat. “Thanks for bringing this.” 

Cullen pivoted around his seat on the boulder, following her path as she walked away. “Hey, where are you going?” 

“To camp,” she said, not stopping. 

He stood. “But what about—we were having a conversation.” 

Trevelyan stopped, finger raised. “Not a conversation. You got the answers you were looking for. You can report back to the others that I’m not some insidious spy.” She waved her hands mockingly. “Or am I?” 

Cullen walked over to stop her. “Please, Herald-,” 

She was instantly annoyed—he knew why—and he winced internally at the frustrated sound she made. “Maker’s balls, you are the _last_ person they should have sent for-,” 

“I’m sorry,” he said hastily. 

“I mean, honestly, it’s not like you actually believe I’m a Herald to Andraste,” she continued, pacing.

Cullen sighed. “It doesn’t matter what I believe,” he said. 

She stopped to look at him, wind lifting her hair up and off her shoulder. He stepped closer. 

“We need you in this, Trevelyan, and I swear no harm will come to you, from me or anyone else at the Inquisition.” 

“Your promises don’t change anything,” she said. “I was staying until the Breach was closed no matter what.” 

Cullen shook his head. “You don’t have to keep lying.” 

She lifted one hand. “You…know everything, now. I swear.” 

He did not believe that, but he hoped she had at least mentioned the important things. “And I can assure you we aren’t hiding anything from you.” 

The Herald did not believe him in turn, he knew, especially from the tightness in her lips that were almost blue from the cold. She had been outside Haven far too long. 

“You won’t hide anything until you need to.” 

“What is it that has made you so distrustful of the Chantry?” he asked. “Of Templars?” 

Her brow arched in. “I don’t need a reason. Your general history is enough to inspire weariness in anyone.” 

She had a reason. Plenty of people had reasons to hate the Chantry. Cullen had once probably helped people have a reason to hate the Chantry. He cringed at the thought. 

A dejected breath left him, a long fluid wisp of white. He clearly could not reason with Trevelyan any further. She would not trust them, no matter what he said. 

“I don’t understand you, Herald,” he finally said. 

She had an inscrutable expression in the near-darkness. 

“And like a good Templar, you hate all that you don’t understand.”

Cullen’s face dropped at that, but he had no response to give. Not that she would have heard it because she slipped away, swallowed by the darkness that lead back to Haven. 

He did not hate her. He couldn’t hate someone he didn’t know. Of course, he couldn’t like, accept, or trust someone he didn’t know, either. Perhaps that had been their problem all along.


	8. Chapter 8

The Storm Coast was Katria’s last trip before the Inquisition planned to close the Breach. She had traveled all her life, and yet was still glad to no longer have to be on the road after that. Their destinations had been the stuff of nightmares: war zones, rainy bogs, cold and unforgiving coastlines, and worst of all, Orlais. 

To see the Breach closed meant Katria would be needed no longer. Would be worshipped no longer or asked to behave for the sake of the Inquisition’s reputation. She could make a much needed return to her old life where there were fewer complications. 

These thoughts made Katria especially eager to return from the Storm Coast. Other than recruiting a mercenary group led by a slightly-terrifying Qunari spy, the trip was not a success. She had failed to save the unit of Inquisition soldiers slaughtered by the Blades of Hessarian, she’d found no actual Wardens, and only managed to observe a dragon from far away, rather than fight it. 

She hoped she was more successful closing the Breach. And lived to see it closed. She knew the Inquisition leaders only cared about the former. Especially Cassandra, who after seeing her fight in the Storm Coast, was clearly resentful of Katria’s lies. 

Katria could not blame her: Cassandra had fought hard and risked her life protecting them both in the Hinterlands. To see those efforts for naught—it certainly made Katria a worse person than would normally befit someone called the Herald of Andraste. 

Upon their return to Haven, the atmosphere of the camp was tense. Most feared the unknown because even the sharpest mages had no clue what Katria’s mark would do to the Breach. Their attempts to prevent the destruction of Haven could backfire magnificently. Katria did not like tampering with forces she did not understand, but something had to be done. Whether it killed her or not. 

The others planned the date for closing the Breach. The whole event. All she got were orders to appear to stick her hand in the air like some moron and hope it didn’t kill her and everyone else. Cassandra came to fetch her that morning after all the mages had marched by, followed by the other soldiers providing support around the perimeter of the temple. 

She opened the door without knocking. “Herald, it is time.” 

Katria had just polished off a glass of Legacy White Shear. She raised her finger to Cassandra and poured the remainder of the bottle out. 

Cassandra made an annoyed sound. “We do not have time-,” 

She raised the glass to her lips to drain it again in an impressive feat she’d been refining for a decade. 

Cassandra’s frown only deepened. “Was that bottle full when you woke up this morning?” 

Katria looked at it and shrugged. “I can’t remember.” 

Cassandra said nothing, only lurched forward to clamp onto her forearm and drag her out of her cabin. As they were exiting Haven’s front gates, she finally growled: “We needed you focused for this. Maker, it’s like you don’t even _care_ -,” 

“I was joking,” Katria said, rolling her eyes. “I got the bottle two days ago.” 

“That does not make me feel better,” she muttered. 

Katria wiggled from her grasp, but kept pace beside her on the long but familiar trek to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Or what was left of it. 

She eventually cleared her thought—she was afraid her voice would betray the real fear she felt. “Is everyone ready?” 

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “Are you?” 

“Let’s hope so,” Katria replied, which was less witty of a response than she’d hoped, but just putting one foot in front of the other without cowering with fear below the Breach was taking most of her concentration at the moment. 

They reached the outer perimeter of the Temple, blackened by the explosion, still scarred by all the death and destruction that had occurred there. Although almost all of the Inquisition was present—mages and soldiers included—it was eerily quiet around them. 

Katria mostly looked down at her feet and the dark crumbling rocks giving way under her boots. If she locked eyes with the Breach before it was time, perhaps it would sense her uncertainty. 

She fiddled with the end of her coat and stopped. “Listen, Cassandra, before we go…”

“What, Herald?” she said, turning to face her. 

Katria clenched her jaw—she hated how she still managed to have that nagging feeling to do the “right thing” despite her history of wrongdoing. 

“Before I go out there and become…I don’t know, some tasty appetizer for the Breach, I wanted to say that I’m sorry.” She weakly threw up her hand. “You know, about lying. You fought hard for me everywhere we went. In dangerous conditions when I could have helped.”

Cassandra scrutinized her for a moment. “Think nothing of it.” 

“Right well…” She soothed back some hair from her temple. “Just thought you should know.” 

She nodded curtly. “Thank you. Perhaps once you have successfully closed the Breach, neither of us will have to fight so much anymore.” 

Katria smiled weakly in response. She certainly hoped that, too, but was a bit more certain than the Seeker. Once she used her mark to close the Breach, she would be of no use to the Inquisition. Cassandra may still fight to establish peace between the mages and Templars, but that wasn’t Katria’s calling. Her calling was to leave this Inquisition, its Chantry backing, and its overwhelming responsibilities behind. If only closing the Breach didn’t kill her first. 

===

Cullen was elated to see the Breach closed, but was frankly more impressed at the volume of ale that was produced in Haven to celebrate the occasion. The boundaries of the tavern were now the outer gates of Haven—people drank all throughout the compound, danced, and laughed. He had not seen such happiness here since before the first tragedy at the Conclave. 

He did not partake in the festivities. There was still so much to be done. Mages and Templars continued in an all-out war, and the person responsible for opening the Breach was at large. Though it was a tremendous improvement that the night sky was no longer invaded by so much green. 

An unlucky few of his men also could not have their fun because Cullen assigned them guard duty. He felt for them, honestly, but someone had to make sure Haven remained safe, even if danger seemed absent for the moment. 

He had just finished checking the patrol when someone scurried up to him—a boy too young to be a messenger. Once he was closer, he recognized him as one of Dennett’s stable hands. 

“Er—Commander Cullen?” he began. He nervously tugged at the collar of the coat two sizes too large for him. 

“Yes?” 

The boy gestured backwards. “I think you should—someone needs you at the stables.”

That was an absurdly unusual thing for him to hear. “What—what could I possibly be needed for there?” 

He reddened. “You…should see for yourself.” 

“I don’t-,” 

The boy darted off before he could speak further, and Cullen let a frustrated breath leave him. He surrendered the report he meant to deliver to Rylen and set off for the stables. He half-suspected Sera was playing some ill-fated practical joke on him. 

Once Cullen was closer, he heard shuffling from around the corner, and the sound of metal clanking just as he poked his head over the half-door of the stable. 

The Herald immediately froze, midway through tightening the saddle on her horse. A million thoughts raced through his head, though he quickly came to the conclusion that she was gathering her things for a reason. And it wasn’t to set out to buy more supplies for the party. 

“What are you doing?” Cullen asked incredulously. 

She sighed and dropped her hands. “Maker’s balls, and here I thought the stable boy of all people could keep a secret…” 

He marched over to her. “I asked you a question.” 

“I’m. . . putting my saddle on my horse,” she eventually said. Evading, as always. 

“Dennett’s horse,” Cullen said. “The _Inquisition’s_ horse.” 

“I left Dennett more than enough gold to compensate him,” she said, running a gloved hand along its mane. 

“It’s hardly been a few hours and you-,” He stopped and shook his head. 

Her gaze dropped. “I closed the Breach, like you wanted.” 

“Do not act like that was a favor to me,” he snapped. “I didn’t want the Breach closed, the entire damn nation needed it closed, and only you could do it. There are still rifts out there-,” 

“I’m going to close them,” she said. She reached into her knapsack and rummaged around—glass clinking loud because she’d packed plenty of liquor—until she found a scroll. 

“I marked them on this map,” she explained, unraveling the paper. A map of Orlais and Ferelden. An ‘X’ marked the spot of each known rift. 

He shook his head. “You plan to close them on your own? The rifts that regularly release demons?” 

She rolled the parchment with practiced efficiency. “Only a handful.” 

Cullen circled around the horse so he could stand in front of her. “You cannot be seriously considering this. Abandoning-,” 

“I did what you asked,” she said tersely. “The Breach is closed. You half-expected it to kill me. What difference does it make what I do now?” 

“These people believe in you!” he replied. “The Inquisition is illegal in the eyes of so many, it helps to have Andraste’s Herald on our side.” 

That seemed to anger her, long nose scrunched up. “I am not a Herald. I am just some random sap who got thrown into this mess because-,” She made a frustrated sound. “Well I don’t know why, but I know it’s not because the Maker _chose_ me.” 

Cullen stepped closer, resting his hand on her half-adjusted saddle. “Herald, I know we do not get along-,” 

“Mostly because you insist on calling me Herald.” 

“-but I…” He sighed. “I implore you to stay.” 

She searched his eyes for a moment—he hoped he conveyed with true sincerity how much they needed her, or what she represented, to stay in Haven. 

The Herald reached forward, closer to him now, which he thought was a good sign, until she merely tightened her saddle the rest of the way and hooked her last bag onto it. 

“You don’t need me here,” she said. “You don’t want me here, either.” 

“That is not true,” Cullen insisted. She stepped between him and the horse so he’d drop his hand. He did not. 

Trevelyan gave him an amused look. “Is your plan to force me to stay?” 

He scowled, angry now because she was abandoning their cause. Galloping away in cowardice because—Maker, he didn’t know why. But just because she disliked it in Haven did not mean she should shirk her _duty_ and walk away.

“I will not force you, but what are you leaving Haven to return to?” he asked angrily. “You—you have no friends, no family, no money. What could you have to live for but defending these people?” 

Her brow rose in surprise, and he immediately regretted his harsh words. Instead of looking hurt, or angry, she grinned and gave a short huff of a laugh. “It’s a good thing the Inquisition doesn’t put you in charge of negotiating.” 

She hauled herself up onto the horse, one long leg across the saddle, and Cullen grabbed the reins. “I didn’t mean-,” 

The Herald snatched them back. “You did, and that’s okay.” 

The horse took a few steps back, and Cullen followed. “Don’t do this, Trevelyan.” 

“Too late,” she said. “And good luck.”

“Herald-,” 

She snapped the reins in both hands, the horse’s whine cutting him off. As his final steps led him out of the stable, her horse broke into a gallop down the path. She gave him that insufferable, shit-eating grin with her unfairly straight teeth—and then was gone from the camp.


	9. Chapter 9

Katria did not feel an ounce of guilt leaving Haven. She had done exactly as promised. She used her mark to close the Breach. She’d sat in that damn camp for months, recruited nobles and Wardens and mercenaries. She had done everything the Inquisition asked of her—with a sarcastic attitude, but still, it got done. 

Even in the dead of night, wandering the forest in the bitter cold, she felt warm and giddy. Finally alone after being watched and worshipped for so long. The next town she entered, she’d be no one. Instead of a figure to be ogled at by villagers lining the street. 

She did have every intention to close the remaining rifts in Thedas. But she didn’t need the Inquisition’s help to do that. Without her, their lives would be less complicated. They could focus on finding the person responsible for causing all their troubles in the first place. They could rehabilitate the Chantry, the Templars, and maybe find some fragile peace between those warring groups. 

That was categorically _not_ something she could help with. And since they didn’t need her—since Thedas no longer needed her—she could return to her old life. A life not worth living according to Cullen, but what did he know. 

She had not said any goodbyes. Not even to the people she had come to tolerate in the Inquisition. Dorian was a kindred spirit, and Varric a fount of good advice and entertaining stories, but…she’d met many like them before. Those relationships didn’t last, and it wasn’t worth sticking around the Inquisition being nothing but a Herald to everyone else. 

Katria had slowed from her gallop once she was a few miles from Haven. She knew Cullen would not follow her—he could not be distracted from his duties. Though maybe he would join the celebrations now that she’d departed. 

She continued to follow the narrow path leading down the mountain—she decided to make camp once she was far from Haven and once there wasn’t so much snow around.

The darkness, without the distant torches of Haven, was especially hard to navigate. Her eyes adjusted slightly, but she only saw outlines of spindly trees and the soupy gray clouds above her head that promised more snow. 

The mountain leveled out a few more miles down—a plateau not covered in foliage that gave her a better view of the blackened landscape around her.

Except it wasn’t blackened at all. On the opposite mountainside, she could see hundreds of swinging yellow lights. Flames flickering in torches, floating through black sky and white snow. 

Katria immediately pulled on the reins of her horse, stopping its trot. The lights moved in sync, in a slow clip down the mountain. Held by marching men. And who would march at this time of night—in this place—except an army heading for the town she’d just left? 

“Shit,” she muttered. “Shit, shit, _shit_.” 

Perhaps it was a Fereldan patrol. Or Chantry allies. Anything not nefarious because an army that size would bury Haven. 

She squinted, praying for a banner—even an Orlesian one, but she could see nothing. Because there was nothing. 

Katria knew the Inquisition had enemies, but who could march on them with such sheer volume? They had neutralized Alexius, and Leliana would not have let a large influx of Tevinters into Ferelden go unnoticed. 

The wind was whistling loud on the mountainside, but Katria still heard something odd in between gusts—a tiny pop, almost. 

She craned her neck around on her horse, and seeing a figure, immediately hurled her knife in that direction. The man rolled aside, unharmed, and Katria leapt from her horse with another at the ready. 

“Wait!” he called, and Katria realized it was hardly a man before her. A sallow-looking boy in rags really, wide-brimmed hat obscuring his face. 

“I’m Cole!” he said. “I came to warn you. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.” 

Katria did not lower her knife. “Where the fuck did you come from?” 

The boy finally stood straight, brim high enough that she could see his face—he had limp yellow hair across his forehead, blue eyes scanning her and then the snow around her. 

“Why are you here?” he asked, sounding confused. “You-,”

“My question first,” she ordered, blade between them. 

“The Templars come to kill you,” he said. “I want to help.” 

That did not answer her question of where this boy came from. She found it hard to believe he materialized from thin air. 

“I know I haven’t made friends of the Templars, but attacking blindly seems unnecessary,” she said. 

“The red Templars went to the Elder One,” Cole said. “You know him? He knows you.” 

Katria looked back out at the mountainside, the lights closer now. Maker, they would descend upon Haven within the hour. “The Elder One?” she began. “Add him to the list of ‘who the fuck is that.’” 

She lifted her hand to her temple—yes, she was confused, but one thing was clear: the Inquisition was under attack. If they didn’t have sufficient warning…

“I have to return to Haven,” Katria said. She gestured to Cole. “You said you’re here to help, let’s go.” 

“I will see you there,” he replied. 

Her brow furrowed. “Wait, how-,” 

Cole then, in fact, did disappear into thin air, leaving nothing but a puff of gray behind. Katria hastily stowed her knife; no one to fight now, and she had no time to figure out what in the Void had just happened. Perhaps she’d lost her mind and the boy had been a figment of her imagination. A manifestation of what little morality she had left. 

Katria climbed onto her horse, turning them both back up the mountain, an army at her back. 

“Maker’s balls, I was so close to having my life back,” she muttered before she dug hard with her heels to make her horse break into a harried gallop. 

She wondered if she’d make it up the mountain in time. Even if she did, it might only be to rejoin the Inquisition a final time to meet their demise. She should have known closing the Breach wasn’t the end, even for her. 

=== 

The gates of Haven were closed when her horse sprinted to them, though she could hear the sounds of music, celebration—all about to abruptly come to a halt. 

Katria was hunkered down behind her horse on the saddle to protect herself from the cold, but she straightened her shoulders to shout as she got closer. 

“Open the gates!” she ordered, then gestured wildly with one hand. “Open them!” 

She knew there was hesitation from the guards—perhaps they recognized her, and wondered what she was doing outside camp. Either way, Katria was already off her horse and running to the door before it had creaked open. 

She wiggled through once the smallest crack appeared, already panting. The inside of Haven was crowded with people, who were unaware and confused when she shouted for Cullen. 

He was by the requisition table—still working, damn him—and Katria darted up the steps to him. 

“Cullen,” she blurted out, his expression clear even from far away. He’d spotted her making a scene, looking angry at first, but then he was only puzzled, like the others. 

“Herald, what-,” 

She tried to keep her voice down. “Cullen, Haven is about to be under attack. We need to-,” 

“Is this your idea of a joke?” he interrupted incredulously. 

Katria scowled. “I know what I saw. The Templars are marching here right now. Hundreds of them.” 

“Why would-,” Cullen was cut off by a familiar sound, and Cole appeared between them, causing them both to stagger back. 

Cullen immediately unsheathed his sword, but Katria lifted her hand to him. “Wait,” she ordered. “He’s the one who warned me.” 

“Who is he?” Cullen demanded. 

Cole was hunched over, inspecting his long, pale fingers. “I am Cole, I-,” 

Katria put her hand on his shoulder. “Let’s skip the cryptic introductions.” She looked at Cullen. “Just trust me that we are about to get hit hard, and we need a plan.” 

He did not have time to say he believed her because an Inquisition messenger scurried towards them, the same urgency in his voice as Katria’s. 

“One watch guard reporting, sir-,” 

“We know,” Cullen growled. His eyes flicked over to Katria. “Did you come here just to warn us? Or fight, too?” 

She knew he was still angry about her effective abandonment of the Inquisition. But that departure had been for her own good and not at the expense of the safety of the villagers. She would stay to protect them since apparently danger never ceased on this damn mountain. 

“I’m here to fight.” 

===

Cullen was shocked, like everyone, to hear of the attack on Haven, but it wasn’t until the dragon appeared that he felt true, undeniable dread. He’d spent months training his recruits, fortifying their base, and after the first trebuchet fired, he had been confident they could prevail with little loss. 

It was never a part of the plan for a massive and terrifying dragon to mow down half their defenses in one fell swoop. Their only option was to retreat, and Cullen hated it, not just because they were out of choices but because it meant he had _failed_. In his job as Commander of Inquisition forces, he’d be remembered posthumously for causing all he cared for to perish. 

Cassandra and the Herald collected what villagers they could, plucking their friends and comrades from danger of fire or blade. They made an effective team, though it didn’t matter now to admit it. They were overrun. 

With the Inquisition safely inside the Chantry, Cullen began to formulate a plan—a way to ensure they chose the end rather than being slaughtered by red Templars. He could not envision a worse fate.   
But it was tragic nonetheless to trigger an avalanche on themselves. He needed to be the one to do it; he knew that. He was responsible for this mess. 

He planned to share his plan with Cassandra and the Herald—to break the news, but when he hurried over to them, the two were talking to an injured Roderick and the mysterious boy that had appeared when Trevelyan had returned. 

“Do you think it will work?” Trevelyan asked the Seeker. 

Her square jaw, streaked with dirt and some blood, was clenched tight. “We must try. We have no choice.” 

“What’s going on?” Cullen asked. 

The Herald gestured to Roderick. “The Chancellor thinks there’s a way for the villagers to escape. A pass the clerics used to get to the Temple.” 

Cullen had not often thought he was blessed by the Maker, but hearing that made him wonder if that was wrong. “We can trigger one last avalanche once the bulk have fled to safety.” 

For once, the Herald had a dour expression, lips pressed firm, brows low over her eyes. “Only if I stay long enough to distract this Elder One.” 

“That’s not necessary,” Cullen said. “I could-,” 

“Very chivalric of you, given our history, which is just one of the many annoying things about you,” she said, then raised her hand, green mark cackling in her palm. “The Elder One wants this. Why, I don’t know, but it has to be me.” 

“If you stay to trigger the avalanche…” Cullen shifted. “You will likely perish.” 

Katria shrugged. “Or perhaps I’ll join the Elder One in my rightful place at his side because I’ve secretly been working for him this entire time.” 

“That’s…not true,” Cole interjected from beside Roderick. 

She huffed. “It was a joke.” 

“One of your worst,” Cassandra remarked sourly. 

Cullen searched her face—he saw no sadness. Only a hint of defeat. “I will send some men along to ready the trebuchet.” 

The Herald nodded. “I’ll wait for your signal.” 

Cullen was at a loss for words: he knew they had no options, that the Herald had to do this. Still, he applauded her bravery and would remember that in the end, she was serious when it mattered. That she returned and fought when it mattered. 

“Thank you for…” 

She snorted. “I don’t need— _that_ ,” she said, then met his gaze. “I mean, there was nothing for me to live for outside the Inquisition anyway. Right?” 

Cullen had not been injured in the fight for Haven, but that comment cut deep. Maker, how harsh he had been with her, and how desperately he regretted it now. For those to be his last words…

He reached out with his hand. “Trevelyan-,” 

She smiled on one side, soft wrinkles in the corner of her eyes suddenly apparent to him. “At least you got the name right this time.” 

Her back was then to him, and she gestured to Cassandra. “You coming? Or is it a hard pass on the death-defying trebuchet launch, round two?” 

The Seeker straightened her shoulders. “I have fought at your side from the beginning. No reason to stop now.” 

The Herald then marched for the door. “Get the people out while you can,” she said, turning back, her smooth voice echoing through the high roof of the Chantry. 

Another smile flashed—even in such imminent danger—and she was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

The escape from Haven was no glamorous or celebratory affair. It was a slow, icy march with shoulders hunched against the wind, spirits crushed. Cullen led them all over the mountain pass, and then when they could go no further, they made camp in a snowy valley. 

Those few not injured were tasked with backtracking as far as they could to Haven to look for the Herald. As far as was safe, at least. He...doubted anything would come of it. Cullen had watched from the mountainside as snow pummeled the place they once called home. A magnificent wave of white had descended on the trees, the torches, the timber structures, the trebuchets—until there was nothing left. Not even the Herald. 

Cullen tried to not dwell on what happened—that’s not what the Inquisition needed from him. To think about his last words to her, or the uneasy cooperation the attack had forced upon them. 

He had never hated her, he didn’t think. He nurtured a fair amount of annoyance on a daily basis, but that’s because it was easy to write her off that way rather than engage with thornier questions about what kind of person she was. 

She had stayed in Haven to close the Breach because she had to. Even the worst person would have because if the world ended, no one could live in it. When she left after that, it was proof to Cullen of how selfish she was. Proof that she was only there to keep the world intact so she could keep drinking and being sullen. 

The Herald’s return to sacrifice herself was not part of the tidy image he’d crafted of her. It did not fit in the box he’d been trying to assign her since she first spun her lies. She could have so _easily_ continued down the mountain past the Templars, leaving Haven to perish. But she didn’t. 

And not only did she return to help—she returned to be the sole reason why any of them were still standing here. Had not even hesitated to make the choice. _He_ had hesitated when he thought it should be him. 

She had not looked scared, either. And it made him wonder whether her act was one of valor at all. Maybe she was willing to die, and unafraid to do it, because in addition to not caring about anyone else, or anything else, she didn’t care about herself. Which did not make the Herald annoying, or selfish, or a bad person. It just…made her sad. 

While Cullen considered the consequences of her…passing, Cassandra could not accept that truth—she paced in front of the camp, biting the head off of any soldier who did not come back with good news. And none of them came back with good news. Cassandra’s concern for the Herald was certainly a reversal from her previous stance. Cullen did not travel with them, but perhaps all those months together, when the lies were gone, had brought them closer. 

She marched over to him when another group appeared empty-handed. “No sign of the Herald.” 

“What did you expect?” he asked quietly. “It was an avalanche.” 

“She could have survived,” Cassandra protested. 

“I know,” Cullen said. “And I am holding out hope. But we might eventually have to face the reality that-,” 

Cassandra huffed. “That reality is not—good.” She sharply gestured sideways. “Our people are…despondent. You see it. We are hobbled without her.” 

The Seeker was right. It was bad enough for morale to have to retreat from attack, but to lose the Herald…if she was dead and blessed by the Maker, where did that leave everyone else?

Cassandra shook her head. “She was frustratingly good with her blade. I thought perhaps in a battle of all things she’d…”

“We could not have gotten this far without her,” Cullen agreed. “She will certainly be remembered for it.” 

She crossed her arms. “Do not talk as if she’s already dead.” 

He sighed. “Cassandra…”

“I’m going to search again,” she cut in. “You should stay here.”

Cullen ran his hand through his hair—it was an utter mess—rather than continue to try to reason with Cassandra. She could not be driven from her course of action, even if there was no hope. 

No hope for the Herald’s return, at least. There had to be hope that the Inquisition would still prevail—all couldn’t be lost because of one defeat. Templars, their new enemies of all things, were running rampant after having destroyed the Order, led by some maniac they didn’t even know. Something had to be done, even if they no longer had the mark on the Herald’s hand to help them. 

He would have to talk to Josephine about how to handle the news of the Herald’s demise. She had a way with words that he didn’t—she could handle the optics, frame it so that her death meant something more and inspired rather than depressed the people. 

Josephine would have her work cut out for her, certainly. There was nothing good about the Herald’s loss. She’d been a symbolic leader of a fledgling organization. Her existence had given them legitimacy. Notoriety. 

Now, they were up against their biggest foe yet, and they’d lost their best weapon. 

===

Katria, as was often her habit, had not thought about the emotional implications of volunteering herself for a suicide mission. There was no choice for her but to do it, so it seemed foolish to consider what it meant that she was firing a trebuchet that would bury her in several tons of snow. 

That death was quite noble, honestly, compared to her previous near-death experiences. She had always assumed she would meet her end not with a bang, but a whimper. And probably because of her drinking. Not dying valiantly while facing a darkspawn magister—or whatever the Elder One was—and saving countless lives. 

When all the others scurried away once the field was clear, it did occur to her that they fled to safety while she remained to die. Her lack of emotional response was only irritating in the sense that it meant Cullen was right about her—she had nothing to live for outside Haven. Her life was worth nothing but in sacrifice. 

Ironically, all this speculation occurred again to Katria well after she launched the trebuchet. When she regained consciousness on the floor of some abandoned ice tunnel, having not actually died as a result of her daring suicide mission. 

She rather wished she had met that fate—it would be better than writhing in pain from her fall and being in more pain because of the writhing. Her side hurt most of all, pain radiating to her spine, her wrists, her head. So overwhelming was it that she laid with her eyes closed, barely breathing, for some undetermined amount of time. 

An experiment, next: moving each part of her body to see if any forward momentum could be made or whether she’d be trapped. She managed to push herself into a sitting position, then crane her neck up, examining the hole—now stopped up with ice and debris—that she’d fallen through beside the trebuchet. 

It was an incredible stroke of luck. A more insidious thought whispered perhaps she lived because the Maker did choose her to remain and lead the Inquisition to victory, but she ignored it.

She eventually made it to her feet, though the process involved a lot of cursing and groaning, sounds which echoed through the walls of the quiet tunnel. Step by painful step, she made her way to the surface. A cold white desert of snow, deathly silent and dark. 

The wind on the mountain had died down, so all she heard in her trek was the sharp crunch of snow under her good leg, and then the longer drag through the ice as she pulled the rest of herself along. 

There was no trace of Haven to be found. Not even a flag pole, a stray wagon. Nothing. Katria could have been walking over the top of it for all she knew. Treading over dead enemies and allies. 

The snow was fresh and lightly packed, so she trudged up to her knees, boots sopping wet and toes apparently nonexistent because she couldn’t feel them. Eventually, the snow drifts decreased in size and more trees became visible. 

Katria stopped at a make-shift firepit nestled among the trees. She collapsed on one knee, sticking her hand directly into the ashes. Still warm, but only just. When she pulled back, white and black were smeared across her glove. And red too. She was still bleeding from her side, her tunic saturated. 

She started another fire. Extra wood was already there. And then she sat and warmed her hands, her face, and thought hard about her next moves. 

There was no way to know how far the Inquisition made it. Or what direction they went after cresting the mountain pass. Worse, Corypheus could have had some back-up army that slaughtered them despite their attempted escape. 

She knew what kind of person it made her, but she considered following-through with her first attempt to leave the Inquisition. They thought she was dead, so this time she could truly disappear. She had been…intimidated by Corypheus. Not brave, or defiant. There was nothing she could do to defeat some ten foot tall darkspawn magister, so why should she even try? 

The problem was, the Inquisition did not even know who their enemy was. She was the only person to face Corypheus, to learn what the mark really meant, and what his plans had been at the Conclave. If she didn’t tell them, they would be fighting a war blind. Trying to strategize about defeating someone they knew nothing about. 

Katria knew the lot of them were arguing rather than strategizing. Because that’s what a loss engendered: strife, disagreement, a breakdown in cohesion. She was not the one to bring them together, but maybe with information about Corypheus they could unite behind a common enemy. 

Katria wobbled to her feet eventually, now determined to find them, not because she wished to rejoin the Inquisition, but because if Dorian lived he surely had smuggled liquor out with him. And she was really starting to get a headache. 

She had hoped she would see the sun peeking over the mountain pass as she staggered along, but apparently she had not been unconscious long enough to earn some daylight. The sky was still invaded by darkness and gray clouds—as if the night would last forever after losing Haven. 

Luckily, the march of the fleeing villagers carved a wide path up the mountain. Packed the fresh snow down, showing her the way of their retreat. She hoped it hadn’t shown their enemies too. 

In their hasty escape, some things had been left behind, either fallen off the clumsily-packed caravans or dropped by exhausted soldiers. She came across a shield, half-buried, and dragged it along with her.  
Each step through the snow became an intense fight to prevent herself from collapsing. The cold had rendered her mostly numb, but there was enough blood caked on her coat and gloves to create cause for alarm. 

Eventually, she reached the top of the mountain pass and looked down, squinting against the wind. She inhaled a serrated breath upon seeing twinkling lights below her—the lights of a makeshift camp. With one Inquisition flag staked out front, tangled up in its pole and limp because the valley was protected from the wind.

Katria had her hands on her hips, trying to catch her breath. Well, one hand on her hip because touching the other side of her waist elicited a pained hiss from her. 

The hill down to the camp was slick with ice, but there were no rocks that she could see. She dropped her newly-acquired shield, tapping it with one foot so it got a little momentum, and then she hopped on to it.  
She slid down the mountain—regretting not sledding down on her ass even though she looked way cooler—and coasted to a stop just outside the ring of light cast by the torches. She had drawn the attention of patrolling soldiers, then the Inquisition leaders, and then of course everyone else because she was supposed to be a dead woman. 

Even well-outside the fires of camp, she could see Cullen jogging to her. Behind her the sun was rising above the mountain pass, chasing away the darkness. 

“Herald!” he exclaimed, coming to a stop in front of her. “You…You’re…” 

Katria stepped off the shield, exhaling a sharp breath. Her side hurt more than ever now. She raised a finger. 

“I need…brandy and medical attention. Preferably in that order.” 

She looked up upon hearing a swell of whispers from the camp, then louder, as more people jostled the crowd to get a look at her. Their words were indiscernible, but she knew them already: they saw the Herald, who sacrificed herself to save them, returning undaunted. Risen again from the dead to fulfill the Maker’s purpose. 

Katria opened her mouth, determined to rectify that misunderstanding, but found herself without the courage to do it. In the early sunlight, she could see her admirers, yes, but also men and women languishing on thin bedrolls, injured in the battle at Haven and trapped in the mountains with no means of healing. Some of them would die. Some of them might already be dead. The ones that escaped physically unscathed surely still needed…hope. 

She clenched her fist hard in her glove. “Tent,” she hissed to Cullen. 

His mouth was a thin line, and he nodded curtly. There were dark circles under his eyes; darker than usual, but other than his exhaustion, she could not see relief in his face. Or anger. Or disappointment that she was alive. 

Together, they limped to a tent, leaving the remaining flabbergasted masses of the Inquisition behind. 

===

The Herald relied on his arm more and more as they staggered through the camp. Her long, pale fingers clung tight to his coat—the entire side of her tunic was an identical color. He could feel her body shaking along the length of his arm. She stooped low, so the height difference between them seemed even larger. Still, she fought hard to stay conscious, blue-tinged lips pressed tight.

Cullen held the flap of an empty tent open with his free arm, pulling her inside and onto the nearby cot. She collapsed against it, hands wrapping around the narrow edge. Her fingers left a stain of red on the white sheet. 

“You’re bleeding badly,” he said, as he lit the extinguished lantern on the table beside him. 

She inhaled a deep breath, chin pointed towards the sky. 

“Really? I thought Dorian had just spilled wine on me.” 

He shook his head. “Maker, how do you find time for jokes…” 

Trevelyan had no response to that—except a wince directed at her stomach. Her hair fell in matted clumps over her shoulders, obscuring the way her nose crinkled from the pain. 

Pain she endured for the sake of the Inquisition. To save his life and countless others. He hated that he could no longer direct a singular sense of annoyance at her, when she’d formerly been the obnoxious, irreverent Herald who only made his life difficult. 

In reality, Trevelyan was some complicated mess of a person who was equal parts coward and hero; maybe even a kind person hiding under far too many layers of snarkiness. 

Cullen cleared his throat. “Herald-,” 

She raised her hand; the other held her side. “I don’t want vomit on me in addition to all the blood.” 

“Excuse me?” he began, brow furrowed. 

Trevelyan looked at him. He could not see her eyes in the dim light. “Whatever apology or standing ovation you want to give me for my bravery—it’ll make me throw-up. Because emotions, Commander Cullen, are gross.” 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I-,” 

Before he could finish, the flap of the tent flew open, followed by frantic footsteps as Cassandra burst into the space. 

“Herald!” she exclaimed, then marched over. She placed her gloved hands on Trevelyan’s shoulders, squeezing. “You are alive.” 

The Herald leaned back, brow scrunched. “Is. . . this how you hug people?” she asked, gesturing to her hands. “I mean for the love of the Maker don’t _actually_ hug me-,” She stopped herself with a low hiss of pain. 

Cassandra released her. “Are you alright? We’ve sent for a healer.” 

Trevelyan was doubled over now, hair skimming her knees. “Great, but I believe there was mention of getting me some whiskey,” she ground out, voice muffled. “Shit, I would take ale at this point.” 

“No one brought any alcohol fleeing the avalanche, Herald,” Cullen said. 

She lifted only her head while she stayed folded over. “See, this is why I didn’t want to drag my ass all the way out here.”

They heard footsteps again—a stampede this time—and more appeared. Dorian. Leliana and Josephine. Crowded into the tent, still leaving a half-circle so the Herald could breathe. 

“Thank the Maker you’re alright!” Josephine exclaimed. “We were…” 

Leliana was closest to her. “You must tell us what happened.” 

“Perhaps she should rest,” Cullen said, which surprised even him—when had he ever cared for Trevelyan’s well-being over Inquisition intelligence?

The Herald must have thought that, too, because she gave him an odd look, lower lip dropping slightly with eyebrows furrowed before she straightened and turned to the others. 

“No,” she said. “You all need to know what I saw.” 

Cullen had never seen the Herald look so grave. That’s when he realized—even after the recent attack—that they were in serious trouble.


	11. Chapter 11

Corypheus’ plan felt like a death sentence, not just for the Inquisition, but for all Thedas. Templars were problem enough, but a darkspawn magister leading them? The stuff of nightmares. Cullen’s hope for victory was not restored because of the Herald’s survival. Perhaps even with her on their side, the Inquisition was still no match for these other-worldly forces. 

They had many other problems to deal with before contending with a darkspawn magister. A war could not be won without a well-stocked base of operations. The Inquisition could not eek out an existence in a snowy valley for much longer with dwindling food and supplies. 

Fortunately, the Herald—of all people—was willing to lead them to shelter. She had a knack for navigation after spending so much time in Ferelden; a skill Cullen did not cultivate confined to the Circle for so long. 

Trevelyan’s value to the Inquisition upon her return was astronomical—the people were in a frenzy for her. They truly believed she was holy, despite how the Herald grimaced when she heard that. She survived an avalanche, led them to a well-fortified castle: many accepted without question that she’d been ordained by the Maker to triumph over all adversity. 

The rush of reverence the people had for the Herald made their work ethic quite an asset. Everyone was eager to get to work upon crossing the threshold into Skyhold. Cullen was, too, but that was because he knew hundreds were relying on them to fortify this place to prevent the events at Haven from happening again. 

The leaders of the Inquisition branched off in the castle and rarely crossed paths considering the mountain of work to be done. Cullen took task in the courtyard of surveying the area and finding accommodation for their soldiers. Leliana sent agents farther, searching for any sign of Corypheus to ensure he was not planning another attack. Josephine was focused on the state of the castle—they could not welcome dignitaries and collect coin in dingy conditions. 

Cullen assumed the Herald would convalesce on a cot. Drink, maybe. She was still weak from her injuries. So when he spotted her in the courtyard by the portcullis, he was surprised. 

She was standing to one side, coat buttoned tight, waving a caravan through the gates while speaking to a group of his men. She pointed in a few different directions—Cullen realized she was giving orders. That surprised him, and not just because she did not have the authority to be doing so. He assumed she would have no interest in doing it either. 

Cullen left his table—his makeshift base of operations for the moment—to reach her. She heard him approaching, of course, and turned, not offering a smile in greeting. She looked tired. Or maybe hungover. Their supply of liquor had certainly dwindled during their retreat from Haven. 

“Commander,” she said. “I assume you didn’t come here to ask how I’m doing.” 

“No,” he said. “I want to know _what_ you’re doing.” 

Her hand fell to her side, and she looked around. “You may have noticed there’s a castle that needs some upkeep.” 

“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “You need not concern yourself with high-level Inquisition decisions.” 

That made her smile. “Oh, I see. You’re upset I’ve reassigned some of your men.” 

Cullen rested his hand on his sword. “You really shouldn’t do that without my permission.” 

She crossed her arms, still grinning. “I’ll be sure to consult with you the next time I plan to make the right choice.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. 

The Herald pointed across the courtyard at some wooden scaffolding that was being erected beside a fallen stone wall. “I switched Beverley and Lester. Beverley’s father was a stonemason in Denerim, so he’s going to be much more useful repairing that wall than clearing the Great Hall.” She then pivoted to the portcullis where a cluster of Leliana’s agents were waiting. “I also assigned Nash and Reid to different scouting teams because they’re sleeping together and you do not want them disappearing into the forest.” 

Cullen was annoyed—and perhaps slightly impressed—by her observations. Not jealous, though, because he worked hard and had little time to get to know every person under his command. The Herald had no such responsibilities. 

He reached behind his back to clasp his hands together. “Consult with me next time.” 

Cullen expected a surly joke, or a flat-out refusal, in her typical, uncooperative manner. Instead, she shrugged. 

“Fine,” she said. 

He shifted awkwardly. “Um—yes. Fine.” 

“What?” she said, brow furrowed. “You expecting an insult to that hideous coat? Because I have about eight hundred, but wanted to wait-,” 

“Thank you, Herald,” Cullen interrupted, louder, trying to hold back a smile. He had taken a step away, but paused. “For…everything. In Haven, especially.” 

She snorted. “I wouldn’t thank me for doing what I had to. And leaving first.” 

Yes, Cullen could feel his anger at that, and he doubted he concealed it in the thinning line of his mouth. 

“You came back,” he said gruffly. 

“For now,” she replied, then winked. 

He could not conceal his frustration after that, although hopefully she did not notice his free fist clench. Never had he met someone who said things solely to get a rise out of people. Or to frustrate them. 

It didn’t seem to bother her because she floated away without a goodbye, back to Leliana’s agents by the portcullis. Perhaps to give more assignments she technically did not have the authority to dole out.   
Cullen knew that wasn’t the point—in fact, he knew he dwelled on their respective authority to obscure the fact that he was impressed with her reasoning. And relieved that she seemed more committed to the Inquisition than before. She wanted to play a part rather than be a surly bystander. 

And Cullen hated to admit it, but the truth was—they could really use her assistance. 

===

After locating adequate shelter and food, and double-checking this new castle was not inhabited by any well-camouflaged enemies, Cullen knew the Inquisition’s next step was to secure a space to strategize. A place to make big decisions about the direction of their hobbled organization. 

He found a well-lit room adjacent to the Great Hall befitting for a headquarters—high ceilings, massive doors. Close by, but far enough removed that they could have privacy from prying eyes.

Fortunately, the others agreed with his choice, and within a few hours, they were meeting behind those closed doors to figure out the Inquisition’s future. 

Cullen was contemplating ways to furnish the room when the other advisors walked in. They looked just as tired as him—all spread thin trying to transport the Inquisition to Skyhold and get themselves safely settled. 

Josephine, still, managed enthusiasm upon seeing him. “Commander, good to see you. Thank you for arranging this meeting.” 

“It was necessary,” Cassandra said from beside her. “We have many decisions to make.” 

Leliana stopped first, arms crossed. “We know the first one.” 

Cullen sighed—he knew what she spoke of. The topic of almost all Inquisition gossip. It had been a conversation even before the attack on Haven, but now speculation had reached a fevered pitch. 

“We need an Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, which only made Cullen shift and look down. 

“Things have been fine until this point,” he said. 

“For damage control, yes,” Josephine agreed. “But as we gain more legitimacy and strength, we will need someone to lead us.” 

Cullen tightened his hand over his sword, turning to Leliana. “You founded the Inquisition. Perhaps it should be you.” 

She shook her head. “Cullen…”

He gestured the other way. “Or Cassandra.” 

Cassandra’s lips were pressed tight together. “It must be the Herald.” 

“I’m sorry, you think that’s a good idea?” he asked exasperatedly. 

“No,” Cassandra admitted. “But it is our only option.” 

“Trevelyan is well-loved by everyone . . .” Leliana cleared her throat. “-not in authority here. And frankly, that’s what we need right now. More bodies, more workers, and soldiers who believe in this cause and her.” 

Josephine raised her quill. “She is a noble, too, which we can use to our advantage. Perhaps as long as our Orlesian allies don’t ever actually meet her.” 

“And she fights well,” Cassandra said. “She is not afraid to do what she asks of her men.” 

“You’re not either,” Cullen pointed out. 

Cassandra sighed. She looked genuinely disappointed for a moment. “The Maker has not chosen me for this. He has chosen her.” 

Cullen reached up, glove against the back of his neck again. He knew this was the inevitable conclusion to their bickering. The people adored Katria. And based on what he’d seen in Skyhold so far, she worked well with them. When she wanted to. 

“I know,” he admitted. “I know.” He threw up one hand. “But have you considered that she will refuse? She abandoned us after we closed the Breach. She had no remorse about it either.” 

“We will have to persuade her,” Leliana said. 

“You really think the people will follow her?” he asked. 

Josephine smiled encouragingly. “She’s an unpretentious soldier with folksy charm.”

“And a serious drinking problem,” Cullen muttered. 

“The image we project of her will be what the people want to see,” Josephine said. She made a note with her quill. “She’s beautiful, too, which can’t hurt.” 

Cullen had never considered her in that way, and didn’t take the time to do it. “If this is the best course of action, then we take it.” 

===

Skyhold may have become a pilgrimage for the people who had heard of Katria’s harrowing survival from Haven, but that did not make the castle habitable. Though mysterious, it was still an abandoned fortress of rocks filled with snow and nesting animals. _Cranky_ nesting animals. 

For some bizarre reason—probably because she had no other skills—Katria had taken it upon herself to expel the various animal occupants in Skyhold from their new home. That included the massive bird’s nest in the roof of Cullen’s office. The badger living in what Cassandra deemed the new Chantry. And of course the pack of snakes that had settled nicely into Harritt’s warm Undercroft. 

She hadn’t gotten bitten, thankfully, but had been hissed at plenty for a lifetime. When a messenger came for her while she was in the Great Hall, she feared another animal had been found. A bear, maybe, which would not be within her area of expertise.

Instead, she was asked to report to the room in the east of Skyhold that the Inquisition advisors had been furtively disappearing to for their high-level plotting to make her life more miserable. 

Katria complied with the request to meet them, but with great trepidation. That feeling was magnified when she finally managed to push open the heavy door to the room. The “team” was present—Josie, Leliana, Cass, and Cullen—and clustered around some massive table that had been conjured from thin air, apparently. The light streaming in from the high windows blinded her temporarily as she crept forward. 

“I feel like I’m in trouble,” she remarked, making them lift their eyes to her. “Am I in trouble?” 

She stopped and gestured at the table. “This is very ominous, and you all look…so dour.” She snapped her fingers. “Let me guess: I’m dying. No, we’re out of liquor. No-,” 

Cassandra never let her finish. “We want to talk to you about the future of the Inquisition.” 

“Do you intend to stay and help us?” Leliana asked. 

Katria sighed, eyes immediately on Cullen because surely he’d vented about her decision to leave in Haven. His stoic expression betrayed nothing. 

“It…seems like I am needed,” she finally said. 

“You are,” Cassandra said. “More than anyone else here. These people-,”

Josephine interrupted her, which was a surprise. “You are a soldier with great skills,” she began. “A seasoned traveler. And you have connected with our members better than us. They see you as one of them.” 

Katria smirked—the Inquisition’s ambassador certainly knew what to say to make people feel important. She was aware that if Katria heard that people believed in her one more time, she’d scream.

“Masterful, Josephine. Just masterful.” 

“It’s true,” she replied. 

Katria exhaled sharply. “Maker, I’ll stay, alright? I don’t have anything else to do, and I’d really like to give Corypheus a swift kick to the ass after what he did in Haven.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that all?” 

Leliana put her palms on the table, leaning forward. “No, you see, now that we have Skyhold, we have other decisions to make.” 

“You mean appoint an Inquisitor?” she said. “I’m not an idiot, everyone is talking about it.” She pointed with her thumb to the Seeker next to her. “Cassandra is the best choice, obviously.”

Cassandra met her gaze, unwavering. “We want you to be the Inquisitor.” 

Katria’s mouth split into a large smile, and she laughed. Maker, it felt good to do that. “You guys are funny,” she said. “Wow, I didn’t think you had it in you, but that’s the most I’ve…”

She trailed off when she realized that no one else was smiling—in fact, they looked in a _worse_ mood than when the conversation had begun. “Why are you not laughing?” 

“Because we’re serious,” Leliana said. 

Katria clenched her jaw. “Maker’s _balls_ , what could possess you to think I am in anyway equipped for that?” 

“You will have us to guide you,” Josephine insisted. “All we need you to do is continue in your same capacity, fighting and traveling for the Inquisition.” 

“Oh, so you want me to be a figurehead?” she said incredulously. “As if I didn’t already have enough fake titles.” 

“You will be in charge,” Josephine assured her. “You will call the shots. Your choices have not led us astray yet.” 

Katria’s laugh was a skeptical huff now. She looked at Cullen. “Talk some sense into them, will you?” she said. “Tell them I’m a childish and irresponsible shrew with a serious drinking problem. I’m not well-read, I have no experience with any sort of teamwork, I am reckless and brash-,” 

“I agree with the others,” he said simply. 

“Thanks for nothing.” 

Cullen shifted, probably hoping no one could see how tightly he was holding his sword. Katria was surprised he could verbalize his support for her as Inquisitor when there was so much disdain in the thin line of his mouth. 

“I…believe this is best for the Inquisition moving forward.” 

Katria’s chest tightened, breath short, the feeling creeping up her throat until she could hardly speak. She was coming to terms with the fact that the people across the table from her were entirely serious about putting her in charge of a fledging organization whose current aspiration was defeating a darkspawn magister. 

It was an absurd proposition because Katria had never led anything in her life. She was a loner at best, and a churlish, insubordinate team-member at worst. And even if she did believe that she would be more than a figurehead—which was unlikely—being any kind of Inquisitor meant she would undergo more scrutiny. And receive more blame when their plans were ultimately foiled again because Katria’s knives were no match for some undead dragon. 

The responsibility that being Inquisitor would put on her shoulders—it made her shudder just thinking about it. 

She eventually raised both hands and stepped back. “You all have clearly lost your minds, which can’t be good for us going forward.” 

Josephine could sense her resistance and her earnestness increased ten-fold. 

“If you lead us, they will follow, Katria.” 

Maker, did she hate her real name being bandied about for emotional effect. Like giving her that one thing would change her mind. 

“My answer is no,” she said, and then she turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not have an update tomorrow, but definitely Tuesday! Hope y'all have enjoyed!


	12. Chapter 12

Katria did not stop her march—retreat—out of the War Room until she was in the courtyard, watching soldiers whiz by her, all working furiously to prepare Skyhold for the Inquisition. Cassandra’s Inquisition. The one she started, and the one she should lead. Katria was not fit for that, and certainly not the right choice for it. 

She was desperate for someone to agree with her because Cullen had failed at the only thing he was useful for: doubting and mistrusting her. Dorian and the Iron Bull had already expressed their belief that she would make a good Inquisitor, which made them both insane and not people she wanted to talk to at the moment. 

Varric had been hiding out in a dilapidated building in the upper courtyard—it would probably become part of Harritt’s smithy, if Katria had to guess. She scurried over through the tall grass to find him, so they could laugh together at Cassandra’s hilarious suggestion that she be the Inquisitor. Maybe he’d have some whiskey too. 

The building inside was littered with debris, and Katria carefully navigated through it and then up a set of stairs that creaked uneasily under her feet. When she crested the top, she spotted Varric. But with some company—a dark-haired man with an unruly beard and a staff. A mage’s staff, though he was built like a warrior. 

Katria froze. “I know who you are,” she announced. 

Varric and the man both turned, confused. She marched forward, raising one hand. “You’re the Champion of Kirkwall,” she continued. “Hawke! You’re the one Cassandra was looking for before the Conclave.” 

“It’s true,” he said. “And you must be-,” 

“This is _fantastic_ news,” she interjected, smiling. “The only reason anyone wanted me to be the Inquisitor was because you weren’t around. But now that you’re here-,” 

Hawke stepped back. “I’ve got enough titles, thanks.” 

“Hawke is only here to tell you about the Wardens,” Varric explained. 

“Well after he’s done telling me he hasn’t found them, he can become Inquisitor,” Katria said. “Someone has to do it.” 

Hawke’s brow furrowed. “I think the woman with the glowing hand should maybe take that on.”

“My hand did what it was supposed to," Katria protested. "I closed the Breach. Things got worse, which is _not_ my problem.” 

He grinned and looked at Varric. “Wow, she’s exactly like you said.” 

Katria did not find that entertaining. “What is that supposed to-,” 

Hawke was already headed for the stairs. “Nice to meet you, Inquisitor. I’ll be sure to explain to you later that I haven’t found the Wardens.” 

She only followed him a few steps, fists clenched. “That is not my title!” 

When he was gone, she turned to Varric, glaring. “Now I see why you’re friends.” 

Varric raised both hands. “Listen, I’m not saying being Inquisitor’s an easy job, but-,” 

“You were supposed to agree with me,” Katria said, letting out a frustrated sound. 

“What’s so bad about being a part of the Inquisition?” Varric asked. 

“I said I would stay, that doesn’t mean I have to be in _charge_.” 

He shook his head. “What are you so afraid of?” 

“I’m not—afraid,” Katria sputtered. 

“You know you can trust the others, even if you don’t like them,” he said. “You know the Inquisition needs you.” 

Her short nails dug into the flesh of her palm. “What if I don’t care who needs me?” 

Varric sat down at the table beside him—collapsed more really, because he was tired like everyone else. “Cat, I write about people. I know people. And in addition to not buying your little story about not being able to fight, I don’t buy that you’re half as bad a person as you say you are.” 

Katria frowned. She had not often had occasion to frown at Varric, but he had no idea what he was talking about. “Trust me, I am not lying about that.” 

He rested his elbow on the table. “Of course. That’s why you returned to Haven to kill yourself to save everyone else, right?”

She froze, brow arched in. “You…saw me leave?”

“And then I saw you return.” He faced her in the chair. “You know, Cat, I honestly can’t decide whether you came back because it was the right thing to do, or if you just crave being the big hero.” 

“Neither of those qualifies me to be the Inquisitor,” she said.

He grinned and shook his head. “That’s what is so great about this Inquisitor stuff. You get to decide what qualifies you because no one has done it.”

Katria ran her hand through her hair. It was tangled; she could not remember the last time she’d brushed it. “Maker, I came here to laugh with you about how stupid the others were. And drink.”

“We can still do that when you’re Inquisitor.” 

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she retraced Hawke’s steps to the stairs because this conversation had been no help. 

“When Cassandra comes after you for keeping Hawke from her, don’t expect me to defend you!” she called out once she reached the bottom. 

Varric just laughed, which Katria expected, because he did not need her to defend him. He already had a woman to do that, and her name was Bianca. 

Katria was only just outside the building and in the courtyard when she heard grass crunching behind her. At a sharp, dramatic clip that could only signal the approach of one person. 

“Herald,” Cassandra began. “We must speak.” 

Katria reluctantly turned. “Is that not what we’re doing now?” she asked. “And could we possibly do it never?” 

She stopped in front of her. “It is urgent.” 

“You’re not going to change my mind,” Katria remarked, gaze level. 

Cassandra sighed. “I cannot understand why you are being so stubborn.” 

“I’m allowed to be stubborn when I’m making the right choice,” she said. “You don’t have to pretend that you don’t want to be the Inquisitor.” 

“Is that what you think of me?” she asked incredulously. “That I’m some power-hungry lunatic who created the Inquisition to consolidate my own power?” 

“It does not matter what I think of you,” Katria replied. “The bottom line is that if I had died in Haven, you would be Inquisitor. If I’d died at the Conclave, you would have been, too.” 

“But you didn’t,” Cassandra said. “As much as I did not expect your arrival, or the role you’ve played so far, I know it has been what led us here.” 

Katria pursed her lips tight, breaking from her gaze and turning her body to the stone steps across the courtyard. “I told you, my choice is made.” 

Cassandra grabbed her arm, hard, though she probably didn’t intend to. “This is your calling. I know it is scary, and it is a lot to ask, but we cannot succeed without you.”

Katria twirled back around and yanked from her grasp. She was angrier than she should have been. “You know what really irks me about this whole set-up?” she snapped. “It’s that you lot can’t decide what drivel you’re going to feed me about being Inquisitor. Which is it, Seeker? Will I be good at it? Do you need me? Or do I have to do it because the Maker _chose_ me?” 

“Perhaps it is both,” she replied, unperturbed. 

Katria clenched her jaw. “The Maker can choose someone _else_.” 

She began to walk away, but Cassandra followed her. Katria would have been impressed by her tenacity if it wasn’t so incredibly annoying. 

“I know you want your old life back,” she said, stopping her with a hand. “When things were not complicated for you. And trust me, I want that too.” Cassandra paused, a shallow breath leaving her before she looked away. “At the Temple, there were so many I cared deeply for, and if I could go back…”

Katria cleared her throat. “I am aware that I’m the last person you would have liked to see survive.” 

Cassandra’s shoulders dropped and then straightened after she took a deep breath. “I have come to terms with your survival. And I am thankful for it because of your actions in Haven.” She shook her head. “I lost Justinia and the man I love. I know what it’s like to wish it never happened. But we cannot go back to that day. We can only move forward.” 

Katria had not realized that Cassandra had lost a lover at the Conclave. But that was not a surprise, either, since the two of them had never really had a conversation of the personal sort that didn’t involve one side or the other complaining. 

That fact did not change Katria’s lack of qualifications for the job of Inquisitor. 

“I’m sorry, Cassandra,” she finally said. “I am.” 

Katria passed her, and this time the Seeker did not follow, just watched her retreat. She spoke a final time before Katria was out of earshot. 

“You would not fail, Trevelyan,” she said, firmly, and with great conviction as she always did. “I would not allow it.” 

Cassandra had great confidence in that statement. True faith and determination. All things that would make her a good Inquisitor. 

===

Katria decided the best way to distract herself from her increasingly sentimental thoughts was by working for the Inquisition—not leading it. She pulled weeds in the Chantry garden, and with Adan’s help, they re-seeded the flower beds with all new healing plants to begin the process of replenishing their stock. Once that was done, there was nothing to do but sit and watch stalks grow, which would not keep her mind occupied like she needed. 

Morris—the new Quartermaster—was just her ticket for more menial tasks. A shipment of lumber had arrived that afternoon, spread thin because there was so much that needed repairing. Katria gathered a small portion to begin the first stage of roof repair. She did not have the expertise to help with the Great Hall renovation, but the smaller towers along the outer wall needed upgrades too. 

The first tower she went—up the stairs in the lower courtyard—was empty for now, though she vaguely remembered Cullen making some mention of it being his future office. That fact was confirmed when she shimmied through the door with her hands full and spotted him standing in the middle of the room. She could hardly see him over the stacked wood in her hands. 

“Oh, you’re here,” she said. She lowered her load to the stone floor, careful to not aggravate her back. They had not spoken since she’d refused the role of Inquisitor. 

“Uh, yes,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Just…trying to see what I need for my office.”

Katria lifted a hand. “Don’t let me distract you. Morris only asked me to fix the roof.” 

“The roof?” he began, brow furrowed. “You don’t…” 

She craned her neck up as he trailed off—she realized the room was lofted. There was a small gap in the floor to reach the upper landing. “Do you need a ladder for this?” 

“Yes, I’ve requested one,” he said. “That will be my, um…bedroom.” 

Katria looked back at him. “Of all the places in this massive castle, you want to sleep up _there_?” 

“It’s a convenient location,” he said. 

She put her hands on her hips. “Then I should definitely fix the roof.” 

“No, no,” he interjected, stepping forward slightly. “I like the hole.” 

“You…like the hole?” she repeated. “In your _roof_? What if it snows?” 

Cullen gestured between them. “Don’t worry about it. That lumber could be put to better use.” 

Katria lifted both hands. “Whatever you want, I guess.” 

She stooped back down to gather the lumber, while Cullen stood watching her for a beat.

“Herald…” he eventually began. 

She stopped, one knee on the ground in a crouch. “I promise whatever tactic you’ve thought of to make me change my mind will fail.” 

“Josephine suggested offering you money.” 

Katria had the wood gathered in both arms now, and she stood. “I don’t want your coin.” 

“I know,” he said. “You want to be left alone.” 

“You’re finally catching on.” 

He stepped forward to stop her as she pivoted to the door. “I told Cassandra no at first, too. When she asked me to join the Inquisition.” 

“Kirkwall’s a shit hole,” Katria said. “I’m sure you were happy to leave.” 

Cullen circled around so they faced one another. “I’m not going to pretend I know anything at all about you, Trevelyan.” He threw up his hand. “Your bravery in Haven was either a grab for more fame or a true act of heroism.”

“It was a logical calculation,” Katria replied. “One worthless life in exchange for countless others.” 

His jaw tensed. “I’m not sorry for what I said to you.” 

“It was true,” she said with a shrug. 

“For me, as well,” he said eventually, hand at his neck. His eyes darted away as he continued. “By my choice, maybe, but I had no friends in the Order at Kirkwall. No family. I had my duty, which as the weeks dragged on, I realized was…” 

Katria shook her head. “You and I are not the same.” 

His hand dropped. “Maybe not, but I joined the Inquisition as my chance to atone. And-,” His nostrils flared. “And for all I’ve done, it’s not enough for me to be a simple foot soldier.”

“What makes you think I want to do that, too?” she asked coolly. 

Cullen stepped closer. “I don’t know what you’re sorry for, but it must be something. You don’t drain an entire bottle of whiskey every night because it’s _fun_.” 

“No, I do it because it’s delicious.” 

He did not seemed peeved by her off-hand remark—perhaps he was used to them by now. “This is it, Trevelyan. Your chance to be someone different. If you turn your back on the Inquisition, you will never be any better than you are now.”

Cullen’s attempts to get her to be Inquisitor were certainly more persuasive than when he’d insulted her in the stables in Haven and expected loyalty in returned. Unfortunately he was not persuasive enough. 

Katria shifted. “I see now,” she said. “The difference between you and I.” 

“What is that?” Cullen asked. 

“You want to be better,” she said simply. “I don’t.” 

His face fell, shoulders, too, and even if he thought she was lying, he said nothing. Katria’s arms were straining under the weight of the lumber, and her mind straining under the complicated emotional questions Cullen so unkindly forced upon her. One she could handle for longer, but not the other. 

Katria turned and left the room without another word. 

===

The wearied Inquisition gathered in the courtyard the next day, to celebrate a decision Katria had not been privy to. A decision about who the Inquisitor would be, since she had refused the role. 

Every other corner of the courtyard was occupied, so Katria found shelter in the cranny beside the new room for the Quartermaster. It was not well-camouflaged, but still people did not notice her leaning against the wall with arms crossed. No, they were much more interested to watch Leliana emerge from the Great Hall and descend the stairs. 

Katria had not slept the night before. She kept her emotions tidily hidden almost all the time—a lake of feeling, frozen over, so a thick slab of ice capped the thorny personal issues that plagued her. And the ice was _not_ supposed to thaw. No emotions or considerations of her place in the universe were supposed to escape. 

And yet, in her darkened room, she’d lifted her glowing green hand and let the light pour over her face. She considered the meaning of this cruel joke the Maker had played on her—payback, perhaps, for more than 30 years of snide comments and glibness. 

Cullen was right about her. She needed to atone. Her youth was haunted by her vengeance. Her exacting actions that ruined so many lives. 

For so long after that, she’d wanted to desperately believe that was not her true self. That fifteen years of wrong-doing didn’t mean she was a bad person. How could she convince herself of that by only being neutral? 

Being the Inquisitor was a magnificent—and taxing—endeavor. She almost hated her inner-conflict about the decision because most people would jump at the chance to be pampered and well-paid. She would be a recognized and venerated hero, if they succeeded. And if not, well, no one would be alive to be angry about it anyway. 

If the Inquisitor was something greater—if _she_ could be something greater, what choice was there? 

Katria’s hands were clenched tight around her forearms, nails digging into her rough-spun tunic and then her flesh. She eventually released the tension, turned around, and rocked her head against the stone wall behind her a few times. 

“Fuck,” she said aloud, and then marched across the courtyard to the second set of stone steps. 

As she weaved through the crowds, the whispers of soldiers and villagers heightened, desperate, speculating about who was really accepting the role of their leader. 

Cassandra was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and Katria stopped in front of her. Her shoulders were so tense they were bunched up near her ears. 

“Hi,” she ground out. 

Cassandra sighed. “Now is not the time.” 

“I don’t want to wear a dress,” Katria said exasperatedly. “Or be—betrothed to some Orlesian weirdo with a foot fetish.” 

Her strong brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” 

Katria exhaled a heavy breath, shoulders finally lowering. “The…Inquisitor. Thing. I’ll do it.” 

“Are you serious?” Cassandra asked incredulously. 

“Never,” she said. “I am literally _never_ serious.” She pressed her fist to her upper lip. “Except this one time, and I don’t want to get any slack for it.” 

Cassandra’s eyes were wide, and she threw a look up to Leliana. “What…changed your mind?” 

“Well, once I knew a dragon sword came with the job…” She cleared her throat upon seeing the Seeker scowl. “And…” She rubbed her temple. “I want to stop Corypheus. I want to defend these people and lead them. With some help.” 

Cassandra, for the first time ever, smiled. “That makes me very happy.” 

“Don’t gush,” Katria muttered. “It’s…unnerving.” 

Cassandra swept one arm up to gesture her up the stairs. “Right this way, Inquisitor.” 

She let out another breath and trudged up past her. As if she needed another title. Katria Trevelyan of Ostwick, Herald of Andraste, Lady Inquisitor. Why is it that none of those words described who she actually was? 

They reached the top of the steps, level with Leliana now, who merely cocked an eyebrow at her presence. Below them were Josephine and Cullen—their Ambassador raised her hand to her lips, then broke into smile. She could not read Cullen’s expression, though his brows did rise. 

It was the other members of the crowd who drew her attention. Hundreds of men and women already in awe of her who now formally followed her, cheering frantically. Why did they applaud that their lives were in her hands?

And all she had to protect them against an evil darkspawn magister and his Templar army was a stupid dragon sword.


	13. Chapter 13

Never in a million years did Cullen think he would be happy to see Trevelyan. He’d been relieved to see her trudging through the snow after Haven, but it was true happiness that overcame him when she appeared on the stairs with Cassandra and Leliana to don the mantle of Inquisitor. 

The other members of the Inquisition were even more ecstatic, and Trevelyan at least tried to hide her palpable discomfort at that. She complained about titles often, but since she already had one that led to worship, what was one more? 

Cullen knew this development would require some adjustment—they had all promised not to treat their new Inquisitor as merely a figurehead. But that meant Trevelyan was now technically his superior. He prayed she would not lord over him. 

He had existed in a hierarchy his entire life and been forced to respect and follow orders of men and women much worse than Trevelyan, so he was happy to have her as the Inquisitor. Happy to give her advice. And if a significant conflict arose—well, they would have to find a way to resolve it. For the sake of the Inquisition and everyone else. 

Cullen had plenty of important questions for the Inquisitor, but Josephine and Leliana capitalized her time. Josephine escorted her to her room and proposed a litany of ways to gather coin for the Inquisition and gain the nobles’ favor. Leliana had shelves of intelligence files that needed reading. 

It was not until the next day that he even spotted Trevelyan—still wearing her same clothes, no longer wielding her ceremonial sword, so she looked the same as she always had.

He planned to descend the stairs to speak to her about their barracks first and foremost, when a messenger approached him with a report. He accepted it and spoke right away. 

“Would you find Morris and ask him what’s the hold up with my lumber requisition? I thought I saw the caravan this morning.” 

The man shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, yes. Morris asked me to inform you that those supplies had been redirected.” 

Cullen lowered the report, frowning. “On whose orders?” 

“The Inquisitor’s, sir.”

He tried not to look visibly annoyed, though he certainly was. “Of course,” he said. “Thank you. You’re dismissed.” 

The messenger saluted to him and then scurried away, while Cullen was now absolutely adamant that he speak to their new Inquisitor. Josephine and Leliana could wait. 

He jogged down the stairs and crossed through the strip of mud created by the flurry of horses coming in and out of the portcullis. The Inquisitor was just walking away from the make-shift medical tent that housed their injured soldiers. 

“Good morning,” she said to him. 

He chose to forego his greeting. “Inquisitor-,” 

“You don’t have to call me that,” she interjected, grimacing. “It sounds so odd.” 

“It’s your title,” he said simply. 

“Yes, but-,”

He had no interest in a discussion of how odd her title was. Not with such an urgent matter at hand.

“Inquisitor, it has come to my attention you diverted my lumber requisition for the trebuchets.” 

She paused for a second, perhaps weighing the rudeness of his interruption, before she let out a breath. 

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” 

“Why would you do that?” he asked. 

“The tavern’s floor needs to be replaced,” she replied. 

Maker, Cullen did not see how that could take precedence over Skyhold’s safety. “I understand; however, I think it would be prudent to prioritize our defenses over—drinking.” 

She smiled slightly, brow rising. “Do I sense hostility in your tone?” 

He tried to reign it in. “I need those supplies,” he ground out. 

“When the next shipment comes in, you’re first on Morris’s list,” she said. 

Cullen huffed. “You can’t just go over my head about-,”

Trevelyan laughed. She reached out and fluffed up the fur on his coat. “Oh, my dear Commander, do you not remember yesterday when I was holding that idiotic dragon sword? Everyone was cheering and-,”

“I remember,” he growled. 

She clasped her hands together. “So when you accuse me of going ‘over your head,’ it is in fact because I _am_ over your head. Not literally of course given our respective height difference, but-,"

“We didn’t make you Inquisitor so you could ensure your evenings drinking are as comfortable as possible,” Cullen protested. 

“No, you made me Inquisitor so I could have the final say. And if I want the lumber to repair the tavern, that’s where it goes,” she said, looking so triumphant Cullen thought he might burst. 

“You’re doing this to be difficult,” he said. 

She shook her head. “I’m doing this because repairing the tavern is the right choice.” 

“How could that be more important than this castle’s defenses?” he demanded. 

“Our defenses are fine,” she said. 

“After the attack on Haven-,”

“They are _fine_ , Cullen,” she cut in, waving her hand. “We don’t need the trebuchets repaired until next week. We do need the tavern repaired because all the men and women working their asses off for you to make this place livable need a place to relax.”

He frowned. “If they’re not safe-,”

“They are safe,” she insisted. “As safe as we can be at the moment. But if we don’t liven up this place, then it’ll be safe and _empty_.” 

She pushed her hair behind her ear, then gestured along the walls and back towards the Great Hall. “Think about what you’re asking of these people. Work all day, slaving away on the top of some frigid mountain in the middle of Ferelden—it sucks.” 

“We are saving Thedas from destruction,” he replied. 

She grinned. “I understand that is what gets you out of bed in the morning, Cullen, but the rest of us—the humans—prefer to take some enjoyment out of life.” 

He clenched his teeth, trying not to make a frustrated noise, not because he was angry at her, but because she was _right_. The fervor the Inquisitor inspired could only fuel them for so long. Eventually, people would get tired. Want comforts and small luxuries to make it all worth it. 

“The next lumber requisition is mine,” he said gruffly. 

Her tilted grin turned wide, straight teeth mocking him. It didn’t seem fair that her…decidedly lovely smile should be broken out at the expense of his mistakes. 

“We’ll have to see,” she said. “Maybe you should check with your boss.” She put a finger to her chin. “Oh wait…” 

Cullen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I will see you in the War Room soon, Inquisitor.” 

As he walked away, he saw her nose crinkle at the invocation of her title. Which is maybe precisely why he said it. Cullen did not mind calling her it, either. As much as she hated its sound, she was settling into the role nicely. 

===

Katria’s new quarters were quite quickly and nicely furnished thanks to Josephine. A bed, a desk, and a wardrobe were all set up for her, with decorations promising to arrive within a matter of weeks. She would not be present to make decisions about those—not that she cared—because she was given her first mission as Inquisitor. 

While her advisors sat in Skyhold’s relative comfort, Katria and her companions would be schlepping to the Western Approach. Katria had not yet visited that part of the world because she’d never had any desire to travel around a blighted _desert_. And yet, that is where Corypheus’ Venatori had decided to make themselves visible to the Inquisition. As if she didn’t hate them enough already. 

In the meanwhile, Katria spent her mornings training Leliana’s agents, including Foster. It was the most enjoyable part of her day because afterwards were meetings in the War Room, noble tea parties, and endless decision-making that she did not feel qualified to do. 

One of her attendants already had a warm bath ready for her when she was done in the sparring ring. It was a perk of being Inquisitor that did not justify everything else she had to put up with. She rinsed off quickly, and the attendant disappeared with her dirty clothes.

She’d managed to scrounge up a pair of underwear and a breast band before coming up empty-handed looking for anything else. There were so many chests, and boxes, and fabric samples littered around the room they must have gotten hidden away somewhere. 

She was rummaging through a chest of fabric when she heard the door open. Josie’s prim and cheery voice—even for this time of morning—echoed up the ceiling. 

“Inquisitor, may we come in?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, not paying attention to the operative _we_ in her sentence. 

Josephine spoke as she climbed the stairs. “I need to discuss our main hall renovations, and Commander Cullen—oh, oh dear.” 

Katria stood from her crouching position. “Where are my clothes?” she asked. 

Cullen—because of course he was the “we” in Josephine’s question—turned beet red and used the report in his hand to cover his eyes. 

“Maker’s— _breath_.”

Katria ignored him, except to note how absurd it was for him to react to her being…mostly covered. 

“Josie, my clothes.” 

Their Ambassador was pink in the cheeks, too. “W-Well—they’re in that chest,” she said, walking over to the one nearest her. She lifted it open. “Here, see? All new. Straight from Orlais. Wonderfully tailored.”  
She pulled out a long piece of gray wool. “And look, a new cloak!” 

Katria shook her head. “Where are my old clothes?” 

“I threw them out,” she replied. 

“You _what_?”

Josephine folded the cloak and set it back down. “They were awful,” she said. “Your pants had holes, your shirts didn’t fit right—I mean, honestly, it’s embarrassing for the Inquisition for you to wear rags.”

“They’re not rags,” Katria said petulantly, marching over. She pushed the cloak aside and balked at what was beneath—rich, jewel-toned tunics lined with heavy metallic yarn. “I can’t wear _embroidery_.” 

“It would be a lovely match to-,” 

Katria put her hand on her hips, just below her bandage that covered her wound from escaping Haven. 

“There had better not be dresses in here.” 

Josephine stood and gave a small shrug. “I wanted to give you options.” 

Katria made a frustrated sound. “I want my old clothes back.”

“Not going to happen, Inquisitor,” Josephine replied, stern, yet still polite. 

“Well, I’m not wearing these,” Katria insisted, gesturing with disdain to the trunk. 

“Oh, so you’re just going to walk around naked?” she asked incredulously. 

That made Katria’s lip turn up slightly in a smirk. 

“Yep.” 

Josephine clearly had not expected her to take the suggestion seriously. “Wait, Inquisitor-,” 

Katria was already marching across the room, the stone floors cold against her feet. Cullen was standing by the stairs, rigid an as iron rod, parchment covering his eyes. 

“Excuse me, Cullen.” 

He stepped aside, still covered. 

Josephine’s heels clicked on the floor behind her. “Do not open that door.” 

Katria descended the stairs, waving both hands. “Oh, I’m sorry, would it be _embarrassing_ for the Inquisition if I walked around like this?”

“I picked perfectly normal clothes, Inquisitor!” Josephine said exasperatedly, now gazing down in displeasure at her from the top of the steps. 

“Well I want my old ones!” she shot back. 

Their Ambassador crossed her arms. “I’m not going to budge on this.” 

“I’ll meet you in the War Room, then,” Katria said, hand on the doorknob. “I hope it’s not too chilly out.” 

She pushed it open only a hair before Josephine spoke again. 

“Oh, Inquisitor, on your little morning walk, why don’t you stop by Lord Harrington’s room?” she began. “He’s the one kind enough to arrange for dessert deliveries from Val Royeaux. Oh, and also say hello to Lady Westerley, the West Hill Brandy Distillery is located on her estate and-,”

The door clicked shut. 

“Are you threatening me?” 

Josephine smiled politely. “No, Inquisitor, but if our allies see your . . . antics, they might be less willing to cooperate with us.” 

Katria huffed. “They’re not antics. I just-,”

“Want your life to be exactly as it was before you joined the Inquisition?” she suggested, brow raised. 

Katria grated her teeth together, shivering, too, because there was a draft down the stairs that funneled cold air to her. She had clearly started a losing battle. 

She marched back up the stairs and stopped in front of Josephine, drawing to full height, though Josephine was not intimidated. 

“I want my coat back.” 

“Deal,” she said, smiling. 

Katria trudged back over to the trunk and pulled out the first set of pants and shirt she could find. She ignored the twinge of pain that shot through her upon spotting a dress. 

To Josephine’s credit, the clothes were well-made and fit nicely. It rather made her squirm to have fabric touching her, but at least she could keep her coat. Their Ambassador was one tough customer. 

Katria soothed down the front of her tunic and then walked over to Cullen, who was still frozen like a painting. She pulled the report from his hands and smiled. 

“How do I look?” 

“Clothed, thank the Maker,” he muttered, not even taking the time to survey her outfit. 

Josephine passed her to reach her new desk. “Really, Inquisitor, there was no need to be so dramatic.” 

“Of course there was,” Katria said absently, eyes scanning the report Harding had sent ahead about the Western Approach. “Cullen got to see a woman in her underwear for the first time.” 

Cullen snorted. “I have seen _plenty_ of-,” He stopped dead, and Katria’s neck snapped up. Before she could speak, he flushed red again. 

“Maker, never mind,” he sputtered, then shoved his final report in her hand. “Here. I will see you two in the War Room.” 

With that, he turned on his heel and hurried down the stairs, fur on his coat quivering. 

Josephine sighed when the door slammed shut. “Oh, Inquisitor.” 

“That was hilarious and you know it,” she said, trying to contain her laughter. 

To her surprise, she smiled slightly in return. “It was,” she agreed. “And it’s nice to learn that you show affection for people by teasing them.” 

Katria stopped, frowning now. “I wasn’t showing—that.” 

“Ah, yes,” she said. “You weren’t showing him affection—just showing him everything else.” 

Katria let out a sharp snort, wondering where in the Void Ambassador Josephine Montilyet learned to be so witty.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the multiple-day delay! Had a busy weekend! A short chapter today, but will have a longer one Tuesday or Wednesday.

Now that Katria was dressed, she could begin her final preparations for the Western Approach. Most importantly, she needed to make sure Harritt had her daggers ready for whatever beasts they’d find in the desert. 

When she descended the stairs to the newly-christened Undercroft, she spotted Hawke, or the shadow of him, beside the hearth with Harritt. She put her hands on her hips once she reached them. 

“What exactly could a mage need down here?” 

Hawke flipped his staff on end, pointing the blade fastened to the bottom in her direction. “Not all of us sit around all day casting spells.”  
“Mine’s bigger,” she said, grinning. 

He lowered his staff, mirroring her expression, though she could see more of his teeth when he smiled.

“Prove it.”

Harritt wiped his hands on his apron. “I wouldn’t start a fight you can’t win, Champion,” he said, then looked at her. “I put your blades over there.” 

Katria walked over closer to the waterfall and heard Hawke follow her. “I should tell you what I came here for,” he said. “It’s true that I haven’t been able to find the Wardens.” 

“Imagine that,” she said, reaching for one of her daggers and inspecting it. 

“Sorry to disappoint, Inquisitor.” 

He said Inquisitor not as a term of respect but to grate her nerves. 

She stopped and glared at him. “Don’t start with me.” 

“Oh, come on,” he said. “It can’t be that bad.” 

“As Inquisitor, I am responsible for everything that happens here. And every person,” she replied. “So it could be that bad.” 

Hawke shook his head. “You’ll do fine.” 

“We can’t all be like you,” she said, spinning the dagger between her fingers. “The Champion.” 

“You wouldn’t want to be,” he said. “I didn’t do a great job protecting Kirkwall. The Chantry, in particular.” 

Katria had found passage to Ferelden more than ten years ago through Kirkwall—it was a shit hole even then. Conditions had likely deteriorated further, of course, as Kirkwall was now the nexus of the war between mages and Templars. 

“Did you know Anders?” she asked. 

Hawke’s brow rose. “You haven’t read _The Tale of the Champion_?” 

“Would you believe I’m not much of a reader?” she asked, smiling. 

“I would.” 

She feigned butting him with the back of the dagger, which he deflected with the heel of his palm. 

“To answer your question, I did know Anders. He was . . . even a friend,” Hawke said, then he cleared his throat. “I wish I could have done more to stop him, but…he was too far gone.” 

Katria switched the dagger to her other hand, tapping it thoughtfully against the table. “You let him live, after what he did.” 

“Oh, I see, so you read the _back_ of the book,” he said, unreasonably massive arms now crossed. 

Katria noted that Hawke quite adeptly changed the subject from anything personal or sensitive. She let him do it, so perhaps one day he would return the favor in kind. 

“For efficiency’s sake,” she said. 

Hawke leaned against the table. “Varric is taking notes, you know. For a new book about you.” 

“Maker, I hope I don’t live to see it published,” she muttered. 

“You could make a pretty penny from it,” Hawke remarked. “Any book with your face on the cover would sell well.” 

Katria spun the dagger around again until it was pointing at him. “Was that a compliment?” 

“You hear them so little you have to ask?” he said, bemused look on his face. 

“When men compliment me, it’s not usually about my face,” she explained. 

Hawke shrugged. “Hey, I’d buy a book with your tits on the cover, too, but I don’t think you want to be in the next Hard in Hightown.” 

Katria laughed. “No, that would likely not be good for the Inquisition’s reputation.” She flipped the dagger back to her right hand and balanced the hilt on her two fingers, eyes on it while she spoke. “Maybe Cassandra will kill Varric before he publishes any book at all.” 

“She shouldn’t be angry,” Hawke said. “You’re Inquisitor now. It worked out.” 

“Cass thinks you could have saved Divine Justinia,” she replied, looking back up at him. 

Hawke leaned forward. “I don’t know if it wasn’t obvious from our last conversation, but I’m not great at preventing explosions.” 

“Varric doesn’t think so either,” Katria replied. “He said you would have just died in the blast along with her.” 

“Varric is a good friend,” Hawke said, nodding. “He was trying to protect me.” He pointed at her. “Don’t tell him I said that.” 

“Of course not,” she said, never one to make sentiment a topic of conversation. 

She stored both her new daggers at her belt, and then selected a few smaller knives to bring along with her. Hawke watched her. 

“I said I didn’t find the Wardens, but I might have a lead.” 

Katria faced him. “Why didn’t you start with that?” she asked. “We could have avoided this small talk about explosions and reading, neither of which I’m a fan of.” 

“Maybe I wanted to talk to you,” he said, smile obscured slightly by his dark beard. 

Hawke was awfully flirtatious for a man who looked so imposing and serious. Of course, he was friends with Varric so that was no surprise. 

“Well we’re still talking, so tell me what I need to know.” 

“My contact wants to meet in Crestwood,” Hawke explained. “He said he could tell me more about what happened to the Wardens.” 

Katria put her hands on her hips. “I will try to meet you there after we deal with the Venatori in the Western Approach,” she said. “Perhaps it will be a nice break.” 

“Famous last words,” Hawke remarked as he headed for the door. “I’ll see you there.” 

Katria merely raised a hand to him in farewell as he crossed the Undercroft back to the Great Hall. She followed behind him a few minutes later after thanking Harritt for the improvements made to her blades. 

When she reached the door, it swung open the other way, and the man in the threshold leapt back in surprise. 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen blurted out. “You startled me.” 

Katria stepped to one side, migrating down a step. “I’m clothed now, so there’s no need for alarm,” she said. “You need to speak to Harritt?” 

“Yes,” he said. “My-,” 

“Pommel needs replacing,” she finished. “You never take your hands off it.” 

Cullen studied her for a moment—she never knew what exactly he was thinking. It wasn’t so much annoyance anymore. “Yes, but I’m glad I saw you. Harding sent a final report from the Approach.” 

“Let me guess,” she said, accepting the parchment he proffered. “In place of the desert, a beautiful tropical paradise has sprouted from the sand.” 

“Close,” he said. “They’ve had to move camps because of a varghest’s nest.” 

“Goodie,” she muttered. 

Cullen did not respond because he was looking away, gloved hand pressed to his temple. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. 

His head abruptly lifted. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry, Inquisitor,” he said. “Just a…headache.” 

“Like you had yesterday?” she began. Because he’d said as much after Leliana noticed his same gaps in attention in the War Room.

Cullen flushed red and cleared his throat. “I suppose.” He waved his hand. “I promise it’s only because we’ve been working so furiously lately.” 

Katria nodded. “Just take it easy, then, okay?” 

“Of course, Inquisitor, thank you,” he said. 

She straightened to slip past him. “I’ll see you in the War Room later.” 

Cullen nodded. “Certainly.” 

Katria let the door shut behind her, heard the muffled sounds of Cullen descending the rest of the steps—and then she sat contemplating for a moment with pursed lips. 

Commander Cullen was not as adept as her, but when he wanted to be, he was an excellent liar.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered splitting this chapter into two, but decided against it because y'all have been such nice readers and commenters! :D So long chapter ahead!

Much work was done to Skyhold during the Inquisitor’s absence. Furniture, supplies, and medicine all arrived in droves. The barracks began to take shape and the castle’s defenses were fortified. Meanwhile, the Inquisitor did similar work in the Western Approach, though she dealt with the slightly less hospitable hosts of the desert, the Venatori. Her letters were brimmed with complaints—and sarcasm, as usual—but she stayed for an entire month. 

As the Inquisition’s state improved at home and abroad, Cullen’s did not. His tremors and nightmares worsened, and so did his headaches. He knew it was because he worked too hard, got too little sleep, but work had to be done.

He had not shared his…current struggle with the Inquisitor. Who was technically his boss. He saw no need to divulge such information because the situation was under control. And if that changed, Cassandra had promised to watch him, take action, if necessary. A process that Trevelyan did not need to be involved in. Likely because she would be little help. 

Cullen was probably giving her too little credit, but the alternative was disclosing his decision about lyrium. Their relationship was fraught enough—he did not need to further hurt his chances of remaining Commander of the Inquisition by…admitting weakness. Because he had seen what Trevelyan could do to people who exposed their vulnerabilities. 

The Inquisitor arrived back to Skyhold to quite a lot of fanfare, arranged by Josephine. She and her team trotted in on horseback, the others offering polite waves and smiles, while Trevelyan merely looked ahead. 

Her advisors met her in the courtyard after she had handed off her horse to Dennett. Josephine interjected a first, very chipper greeting. 

“Inquisitor, welcome home!” 

Her brow arched in at the invocation of _home_ , but she did raise a hand in greeting. She looked weary, clothes wrinkled and boots caked with mud. She was bronzed across her nose and cheeks. 

“Fuck the desert.” 

Josephine cleared her throat. “Although not fun, your trip to the Western Approach was a great boon for the Inquisition.” She gestured to her clothes. “And once we get you all cleaned up, you’ll feel like it never even happened!” 

Leliana was not as concerned with being comforting. “Once everything in your caravan is unloaded, we will need to speak with you in the War Room.” 

“Caravan,” Trevelyan began absently. “Yes, I…I rather forgot something, if you’ll excuse me.” 

She scurried around them and their surprised faces, heading back for the portcullis, but was stopped by two Inquisition guards approaching. 

They were dragging along a woman, with dark hair, dressed in light linen clothes stained by sand. The Inquisitor halted in front of them. 

“Oh, good. You found her.” 

Cullen marched over, other advisors following. Her letters had not spoken of taking any prisoners. 

“Inquisitor. Who is this?” 

She turned back to them. “I made a friend in the Western Approach.” 

He crossed his arms. “Why is she shackled?” 

“She hasn’t quite caught onto the friendship thing,” Trevelyan said. “Keeps trying to kill me.” 

“I don’t make friends with nobles,” the woman spat. 

Leliana sighed. “Explain yourself.” 

Trevelyan ran her fingers through her hair that needed a desperate combing. He could already tell he was not going to like this story. “In the Western Approach, we were asked to remove some dragon traps set out by a group of mercenaries called the White Claw Raiders.” 

“And your new friend led them,” Leliana said, brow raised. 

“See? You didn’t need me to tell the story.” 

Cullen shook his head. “Why did you spare her if they attacked you?” 

Leliana’s head dropped into her hand. “She wants to train with her.” 

Trevelyan looked over at her. “Can you read my mind? Is that what’s happening here?” 

“Wait—she’s _right_?” Cullen asked exasperatedly.

“You don’t have to take that tone,” she said. “I need to practice.” 

He rubbed his brow. “So you capture our enemies and expect them to cooperate?” 

“She’s very good,” Trevelyan remarked, then pivoted to her. “Not as good as me.” 

The woman snorted. “It was four against one. That’s why I lost.” 

Josephine clasped her hands together. “Do you have a name, my lady?” 

Her eyes averted down, a scowl on her lips. “Fuck off.” 

“Cute, isn’t it?” Trevelyan said. “I don’t even know where she’s from.” 

“The Anderfels,” Josephine replied. “The accent.” 

“Inquisitor, this is insane,” Cullen interjected. “And completely unnecessary.” 

“Totally necessary, actually. I need more practice with a rogue,” she explained. 

Josephine pushed her hair behind her ear. “Perhaps we could contact Bertrand-,” 

“He’s no good,” Trevelyan cut in with a scoff. 

Cullen threw his hand up. “He won the Grand Tourney!” 

“Once,” she said.

“Maker’s breath…” he muttered, rubbing his temple.

She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t see why we’re having a debate about it. I’ve made my choice.” 

“Yes, of course,” Josephine said, first to soothe tensions, as always. “Anything you need to help in your role as Inquisitor.” 

Trevelyan looked over at Cullen. “This is why I like her more than you.” 

“She’s going to make you wear a dress later, so you might want to rethink that,” he said with a smirk. 

She balked, mouth opening in disbelief, before Josephine took her by the arm and led her back to the steps. 

“He’s not serious, right?” he heard Trevelyan ask. 

Josephine patted her shoulder. “Let’s have a chat about it.” 

The Inquisitor’s neck snapped back around, and she threw a glare in his general direction before disappearing around the corner. He could not wipe the smug look off his face. 

Cullen stepped to the side to let the two guards and Trevelyan’s new “friend” pass them, headed for the Great Hall and then the dungeons. He shook his head. 

“This is an awful idea.” 

Leliana was watching them too, expression inscrutable. “We simply won’t allow them to use real weapons.” 

“That doesn’t mean she won’t get hurt,” Cullen protested. 

“She’s actually quite good, you know,” Leliana said. “Certainly the best any of my scouts have seen. Perhaps she will emerge victorious.” 

Cullen had never seen Trevelyan fight before, though he admitted to being doubtful of her skills considering her background in Orlesian dueling. She fared well enough on her travels, but that didn’t mean she should be brash. 

The Inquisitor and her team had slaughtered all of this woman’s mercenary group—likely her friends—so he did not believe that she would be all too excited to participate in a friendly duel. Trevelyan faced enough dangers outside Skyhold. There was no reason why she should expose herself to so much risk in her home. Their home. 

===

After three long weeks in the Western Approach, Katria was happy to return to Skyhold—a place where she had a bed and where every single crevice of her body was not gritty from sand. The desert had not been a hospitable place: its environment or people. But it was her first trip as Inquisitor, and it was not a total failure, so there was some comfort for her in that. 

She emerged the next day after a long—and well-deserved—bath. She rose as early as usual to train with Leliana’s men. They were all greatly improving, including Foster, under her tutelage. And it was refreshing to teach people a skill that she knew well because in all other facets of her job she felt completely clueless. 

Katria did not think she was over-confident about her skills: she was really just that good. She had spent twenty years devoted to the practice of being a rogue, so she did not expect to be anything but the best. She was not some duelist like Guerin who spent his days in luxury, interrupted by the occasional training session. Her entire life in Ferelden had been a fight, and that prepared her well. 

The White Claw Raider she took captive seemed just as good. Not better. But Katria had not seen that level of speed in a long time, and it was likely only due to her team’s combined efforts that they were able to subdue her. She was a true rogue—at least half a foot shorter than Katria with a svelte frame and compact muscles. 

Katria had arranged with some guards to have her brought to the sparring ring in the courtyard after she was done teaching. Some had heard the rumors of her retaining a mercenary, and they stayed behind to watch. 

When the guards emerged from the castle, dragging the mercenary with them, Katria noted that she did not look worse for wear. Katria had tried to ensure she was treated well, even in the dungeons. Still, she was scowling, brows arched in, from the minute Katria spotted her. 

They reached the outer barrier of the sparring ring, and Katria walked over. 

“Emely,” she said, and the woman’s neck snapped up. 

“How do you know my name?” she demanded. 

“I’ve got a very talented Spymaster.” 

She frowned. “What makes you think I’m going to get in there and fight you?” 

“Because if you beat me twice, I’ll let you go,” Katria said. 

That certainly changed Emely’s hostile demeanor. “Are you serious?” 

“I am,” she said, nodding. “I’ll open that portcullis and send you right on through. No strings attached. But I have to admit, the odds are against you.” 

The woman laughed. “If you think I can’t kick that prissy little ass of yours, you’re wrong.” 

Katria tried not to look too annoyed—people did not often associate her with the word prissy. She was alarmed that Emely pegged her as a noble just from looking at her. 

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” she replied, then pushed open the gate while the guards unshackled her. “My Spymaster told me to tell you that if you try anything funny—other than fighting fair—you’ll regret it.” 

Emely gave her a critical look. “Why would I kill the one person willing to release me?” 

“That’s what I said,” Katria replied, then reached down to hand her two blunted blades. 

She accepted them and spun them around her hands. “Why do I have to beat you twice?” 

Katria stepped back, pulling her own weapons from her belt. “Oh, I just thought it might be fun to embarrass you that many times.” 

Emely grinned—Katria recognized the expression because she’d seen it in the mirror. A confident, knowing smile that she herself had broken out in front of plenty of opponents. 

“Funny,” Emely said. “I was thinking the same thing.” 

===

Cullen was out at the barracks early that morning—sometimes he liked to do a patrol before sunrise to casually run into those soldiers who stayed out too late or didn’t adhere to curfew. Their flabbergasted faces and general embarrassment were enough to ensure compliance with the rules for at least a little while. He tried not to be too demanding as a Commander, but especially now, with so much to do, the rules were more important than ever. 

Upon his return, the sun was starting its rise high over the mountains, casting gold light across the frozen lake that surrounded half the castle. He was thankful for the warmth because even with its eerie sense of ancient magic, Skyhold still felt cold most mornings. 

The courtyard was not usually bustling at this point—there was a slow start to the day that began in the kitchens, spilled to the stables, before everyone arrived for breakfast and began work. The Inquisitor was always up before that, training away in her little corner, probably thankful for the lag in work-related issues that early in the morning. 

Leliana’s agents were usually gone by sunrise, but when Cullen climbed the steps to the courtyard, he saw them clustered around the sparring ring rather than disbursed through the castle. 

He heard the distinct clang of swords—the clashes happened in such quick succession he knew it must be Trevelyan. He walked over to that area, trying hard to look nonchalant, though he knew exactly who the Inquisitor was fighting. 

The woman from the Western Approach—Leliana said her name was Emely—was now un-shackled and wielding two blades with practiced precision. She was small, and swift, dwarfed especially by Trevelyan’s height and the broadness across her shoulders. 

Cullen had planned to merely gaze by in passing, not showing interest in Trevelyan’s silly choice of sparring partner. He stopped, though, when he spotted Trevelyan sliding back in the dirt, sending dust flying. 

Her white tunic was stained brown from multiple falls. Arms holding her daggers at a lower angle from fatigue. Cullen had seen all those signs before, but never thought to look for them in the Inquisitor. 

He marched up closer to the ring. Nearer to them, he could see Trevelyan’s chest heaving. There was a cut across her cheek, probably from where she’d been hit with the butt of a blade. His lips pursed at that, annoyed, because Leliana had assured him she would not get hurt. 

Trevelyan was playing the defensive, which was the worst thing she could do when tired. She needed to muster her strength for a final blow, rather than let herself get slowly worn down. 

Still, their sparring was remarkable to watch—a dance that looked choreographed months in advance. Each moved with an ebb and flow, in and out just at the right moments, ducking under jabs and swiped blades. Trevelyan drew long arcs in the dirt with her legs as she circled the ring. 

Trevelyan blocked one blade with both hers crossed, but by the time she could hurl Emely backwards, she had already been hit with the remaining blade. So hard that she crumpled, flung sideways with one knee hitting the ground. 

She paused for a just a moment, blood and saliva dripping from her lip to the dirt. Emely raised both her blades high for the kill, but Trevelyan swung her leg out and jerked to one side. 

Emely clearly knew that was her plan because she leapt like lightning over her leg, knee hiking up and making contact with Trevelyan’s jaw with a sickening crack. 

He let out a hiss through his teeth watching her fall again, this time on her shoulder. She did not surrender, though, and staggered to her feet. Cullen wondered if it might be better for her to give up, but said nothing. 

Emely—energy limitless—darted her way, leaping up to gain more leverage for her first attempt before ducking low for the next. She was impossibly fast and hard to predict. 

Trevelyan managed to block those hits, but Emely’s blunted blade caught on her tunic—it was two sizes too large for her and billowed out when she pivoted away. The threadbare shirt tore from the collar down. 

Trevelyan staggered back, almost losing her balance. She tossed her daggers above her head, and surrendered her shirt by tearing it the rest of the way before she caught them again. Cullen cleared his throat and instinctively looked down—he’d seen her tunic-less far too often, but it was not unusual for his soldiers to fight that way. After all he often felt more comfortable practicing without a shirt. The only thing her choice did at the moment, though, was show how deeply her chest was heaving. How much sweat had accumulated on her back and at the fabric of her breast band.

Emely stopped. “You’ve lost, Your Worship.” She spat Trevelyan’s title with more disdain than he’d ever heard. 

Trevelyan had hardly caught her breath. “I do not yield.” 

“You really want me to embarrass you in front of your Inquisition?” she asked. 

She wiped her arm across her lip. “I do _not_ yield.”

Emely, left foot first, charged at her again—still using finesse, but Cullen could sense she was no longer biding her time or preserving her strength. She was going for victory using any means possible. 

Trevelyan met her attack with both blades, muscles visibly tensing as she blocked downwards. As their blades were tangled together, Emely leaned forward. 

“You’re wondering why I’m so good.” 

Trevelyan’s jaw clenched, tremendous exertion evident by the sweat collecting on her brow. She let out an angry growl and shoved her back. 

“I’m wondering why you’re choosing now to _talk_.” 

Emely did not pause—the momentum pushing her back was reciprocated forward. This time lower, and her blade hit Trevelyan at the back of her knee, forcing it inward. 

“You see, Your Worship, while you were sitting pretty in some castle somewhere, swinging a sword with a pretentious Orlesian, I was in the desert, fighting to _survive_.” 

Trevelyan pivoted back and blocked her before Emely could bring her blade to her neck. She managed to push herself back up, but not push Emely away. 

A sharp smack on the side, and Trevelyan was off-balance again, no longer looking calculated or poised. No longer dancing. 

“I was made for this. I was born for it. You squeeze yourself into this role even though you’re a brute, and _that’s_ why I’m better than you.” 

Jaw again, a stinging swipe down across the torso, a blade flipped and held by the sharp end, then dragged one final time up and directly into the back of Trevelyan’s skull, sealing her fate and sending her momentum towards the ground. 

She landed hard on her palms, daggers skidding away. Cullen stepped forward, gloves clenching over the rung of the fence—he planned to intervene because head wounds he would not accept. 

But Trevelyan stayed down. Blood and sweat mingled in a distorted pink across her cheek, then her jaw. Her fingers, also bloodied, clenched into the dirt. 

“I yield,” she said quietly. 

Emely broke into a triumphant grin, throwing her swords to the ground. She walked over to the two guards who had escorted her from the dungeons and held her hands out to them. 

“Until next time, Inquisitor,” she said smugly as she stepped from the ring. 

Katria stayed where she was, crumpled, and Cullen moved to the gate, but Foster was already there crouching beside her. 

“Inquisitor, can I help you?” 

She stood, not accepting his hand. Her expression was hardened, but not angry. “No,” she said. “I will see you all tomorrow morning. You’re dismissed.”

Trevelyan followed the same path as Emely out of the ring. She had a visible limp her first few steps, before she corrected it with a clench of her fist. She left her torn shirt and daggers untouched in the dirt. 

Cullen watched as the Inquisitor’s students dispersed, resisting the urge to jog after her. Right away, at least. He tended to a few matters with the Quartermaster before scaling up the steps and through the Great Hall. 

When he knocked on the Inquisitor’s door, he got no answer. He contemplated for a moment before pushing the handle in and peering inside. 

“Inquisitor?” 

Still no answer, which was concerning, so he climbed the steps and spotted Trevelyan leaned against her desk, facing the balcony. She had not changed clothes. 

“Trevelyan?” he said. 

She started—apparently not having heard him. She turned, drink in one hand filled halfway, expression impossible to read. “You have that report on Crestwood?” 

“What?” he said, further in the room now. “No. I…I thought you might…” 

He noticed a line of red across her lip. “You’re still bleeding.” 

She broke from his gaze. Her hand half-heartedly raised a towel that was stained red. “I’m fine.” 

“We could get a healer,” he said, but she ignored him. 

Trevelyan had turned to her windowed doors. He noticed a scar on her lower back that hooked up to her shoulder blade. Thick and ropey, but fully healed. On the side of her waist, there were pink, criss-crossed cuts she’d gotten escaping Haven. A black and blue shoulder joined the other older injuries. 

She was strong, now that he could see her without those billowing tunics. But Emely was right, she was not built like a rogue. She was lean and tall. Imposing, which worked for her as Inquisitor, but it didn’t make her fast. 

“Did you come up here to rub my loss in my face?” she eventually asked. “A big, fat _I told you so_.” 

“I did not enjoy watching that, Trevelyan,” he said. 

She snorted. “Oh please.” 

“I didn’t,” he insisted. “She hurt you. Badly. Honestly, you should have yielded sooner. Why would you take so many hits?”

“I’ve been beaten out of no less than two mercenary groups,” she said, lifting her arm to drain her drink. “I can take a punch.” 

Cullen stopped in front of her desk. “What are you going to do?” 

She shrugged. “Go to Crestwood. Fight her again when I get back.” 

“I’m not sure that’s wise,” he remarked. 

“Luckily it’s not your call to make.” 

Cullen rubbed his neck with his hand. “I’m not saying you would lose again-,”

She pivoted halfway to him, frowning. “I wouldn’t.” 

“It might be better to let it go,” Cullen said. “There are going to be people out there who are impossible to beat.”

“That’s not okay,” she snapped, letting her glass clack on her desk, while she stood on the other side of it. “I’m the Inquisitor. I’m supposed to protect these people. If someone can beat me, _kill_ me, then how are we going to defeat Corypheus?” 

“By working together,” he said. “We’re stronger that way.” 

“That’s not good enough,” she replied bitterly. “This is—I’m supposed to be…”

Cullen’s brow furrowed. “Did you . . . genuinely believe you were the best?” 

“Why not?” she said, yanking the cork off her whiskey bottle and pouring herself another glass. “I work hard. I train. Before all this, it was my life.” 

“Yes, but—but that doesn’t make you unbeatable,” he said, shaking his head. “There are still-,” 

She huffed. “Maker, if you came to complain about my _ego_ -,” 

“I don’t want to offend. I want to understand, so-,” 

Her shoulders tensed, before she threw her hand out. “It is _all_ that I have, Cullen!” she snapped, voice sharp and loud. “It’s the only fucking thing I have ever done right. So yes, I liked to think I was the best.” 

Cullen’s foot slid back—she had never raised her voice at him before. Or at anyone. Emotions like that were abhorrent to her. 

“That’s not true,” he protested. “You’re an excellent teacher for-,”

Trevelyan turned away, clearly embarrassed at her outburst. “Do not sit here and pretend you even—know who I am.” 

“We’ve known each other for long enough-,”

“You’ve known the Herald. The Inquisitor,” she said. “Or Trevelyan, which by the way, is an incredibly frustrating name because I haven’t identified with it in ten years.” 

Cullen let his gaze fall to his boots—titles in his world were a sign of respect. Calling her Katria would have been unprofessional. Insubordinate. And yet all she saw it as was a slight to her true identity.

“I suppose I hadn’t considered that.” 

She rested one fist against her desk, not looking at him. “I need to rinse off. Change clothes. So unless our relationship has _really_ improved over the past month and a half-,”

He stepped back further. “I’ll leave you.” 

Trevelyan said nothing, so Cullen retreated across the room. He stopped at the top of her stairs and drummed his fingers against the railing.

“I’m sorry that you lost.” 

He could see even from far away how tightly she clenched her glass, knuckles white. Her brows were set low over her eyes. 

“I won’t next time.”


	16. Chapter 16

Katria’s trip to Crestwood and the Emerald Graves was a slinking retreat. She made few appearances in Skyhold before it, and then disappeared early in the morning to zero fanfare. She preferred it that way, and not just because she’d embarrassed herself in front of all her men in the sparring ring. 

No one else—not even Cullen—seemed that bothered by it. Perhaps they were used to losing, but Katria was not. There was no custom to having her ass handed to her by an opponent. An opponent who saw her as some inelegant, lumbering noble. People perceived her plenty of incorrect ways, but that was truly abhorrent. 

The Emerald Graves was a decent distraction from her spiraling thoughts. Crammed full of misbehaving chevaliers who were predictable and fun to fight. She also appreciated the lack of sand in the region, even if she was forced to be in Orlais. 

Crestwood was the same, except mildly less entertaining because it was populated by the undead. Another crisis to tackle in the midst of Corypheus’ plan to destroy everything with the Wardens’ help. 

While traveling, Katria still managed to receive a stream of letters from her advisors. They asked for guidance on every issue, forcing her to make decisions even when she did not feel informed or equipped to do so. Ironically, Josephine wrote the most detail about the problems Katria cared the least about. Cullen was most austere of all, though she wasn’t sure if that was his personality or a consequence of his headaches and general silent suffering. 

Silent suffering which was especially so because Cullen continued to hide the truth from her. The truth she could see in his trembling hand, his headaches, his bloodshot eyes. Lyrium withdrawal. 

She’d never witnessed him take a single draught of lyrium in Haven, but had not realized he officially stopped until the work needed to prepare Skyhold took its toll on him. Extracted the remaining willpower he had left to make everything seem fine. 

It was Katria’s first order of business upon her return to Skyhold to rectify his lies. She was technically his boss and definitely in charge of the Inquisition—she needed, was owed, full intelligence on everyone. How could they operate effectively keeping secrets from each other? 

Katria visited Cullen’s office after her caravan was unloaded. He had not been there to greet her upon her arrival—too busy, as usual.

For a man so meticulous about his hair and his armor, Cullen’s professional space was a mess. Parchment and books were scattered across his desk, on his chair, which means he never sat—just paced the floor or ran around harried trying to keep their troops organized. 

His office was small, and dark, except for a few slivered windows at his back that only let light in certain times of day. He probably strained his eyes an awful lot to read. And the doors were almost always closed, even that day, so it felt stuffy. Made the room smell like him, too. Some oaky, artificial mustiness that probably came from his hair salve, and something medicinal too. Elderflower, maybe. 

Katria left the door open when she stepped inside. Cullen immediately looked up, his expression inscrutable upon spotting her. 

“Inquisitor.” 

She smiled. “Commander, good to see you.” 

“It is?” he said, one brow raised. 

Katria continued further into the room until she was beside his desk. “I’ve been thinking about you while I’ve been away,” she said. “Since I’m Inquisitor now, it’s my job to ensure my advisors are in top shape. Good health.” 

“You don’t need to worry about me, Inquisitor,” he said, now looking down at the report in his hand. 

She waved her hand. “Look, I know you’re a Templar-,” 

“Former Templar.” 

“I worry you’re not getting enough lyrium,” she said. 

Cullen froze, silent for a beat. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’m fine, really.” 

“No, no,” she said, stepping closer and reaching into her pocket. “I know you’re prioritizing the other Templars over yourself.” 

He finally looked up at her. “I swear I’m-,” 

She pulled a vial of lyrium from her coat, holding it between her index finger and thumb. “I managed to locate some lyrium in Crestwood, and I insist you have it.” 

Cullen lowered his report to his side, each movement calculated, slow—he was suddenly coiled tight like a spring. Rather than looking at the philter, he looked at her, brows low. They sat in silence for a few moments. 

“Who told you?” he finally ground out. 

She dropped the vial into her palm, fingers closing around it. “Told me what?” 

Cullen stomped around to the other side of his desk. “Why would you bring that here?” he demanded. 

“Bring lyrium to a Templar?” she began, feigning surprise. “I thought you’d thank me.” 

He rested his fist on his desk, leaning closer to her. “Who told you I no longer take it?” 

“No one.” She pointed at him. “And that’s the problem.” 

“I was going to-,” 

“You had _plenty_ of opportunities before I left,” she said.

He shook his head. “I’ve been busy.” 

She clenched her hand tight, and fearing she would crack the vial in her hand, put it on the desk. Cullen’s eyes darted over to it, but only for a moment. 

“I have returned to this castle _twice_. Listened to you drone on about supply lines a million times. You intentionally hid this.” 

Cullen straightened. “I didn’t think it was important.” 

Katria made a disgusted sound. “How stupid do you think I am?” she asked. “I know what lyrium withdrawal looks like. I know what it can do. You could die, you could damn well lose your mind-,” 

“Cassandra has promised to watch me,” he insisted. 

She scowled—Maker, did that make her angry. They had gone through so much to make her Inquisitor. They wanted her to be in charge, only to be lied to. She should have known she was only a figurehead. 

“And what did you expect me to do in the meanwhile?” she asked. “Stand blithely by thinking you were-,” 

“It hasn’t mattered,” he snapped. “I have not lagged behind on my responsibilities, so it wasn’t your business.” 

Katria crossed her arms. “Everything in the Inquisition is my business, and you’re a fool if you don’t think I know exactly what is happening to you. What can happen.” 

“And how would you know that?” he asked incredulously. 

_I’ve seen it. I’ve caused it._

“You should have told me,” Katria said. She rested her knuckles against her temple. “You know, I thought that things were—that we were…” 

“I thought so, too,” he said bitterly. 

Her irritation flared at that. “How could you say that, even now? How can I be friends with— _trust_ someone who’s hiding such crucial information?” 

“You don’t have to know everything,” he snapped, matching her tone. “I couldn’t bear the thought of looking so-,” He stopped himself, quiet hiss leaving him. 

Vulnerable, he meant to say. He did not want to look vulnerable because they’d needled one another so cruelly before. It’s why she’d hated him in her room after she lost her first fight to Emely. 

“This isn’t worth arguing over,” he finished evenly, pivoting to face the window. “Now you know.” 

“That’s not good enough,” she said. 

Cullen only turned his face halfway to her, blocking the light from the narrow window. She could see determination in his eyes. Anger. 

“What would you like me to do about that?” he asked—not apologetic, only snide, which was infuriating. 

She huffed. “Nothing,” she replied. “Though maybe it’s time that _I_ do something.” 

He had no response to her vague—possibly empty—threat and only faced the window again. Katria just clenched her jaw tighter and headed for the door. 

“Take your lyrium,” he said after a few moments, gesturing to the vial she’d left behind on his desk. 

“Its water,” she snapped, and then slammed the door behind her as she left. 

===

Katria spent most of her evenings in her room, alone except for whatever whiskey she smuggled from the basement of Skyhold. There was always an absurd number of reports on her desk, some that she’d read, but others that would have to wait for the morning. They rarely had good news on them anyway. 

She had just finished her first glass for the evening when she heard her door open. There were only a handful of people who did not knock first, and given the softness of steps of ascending the stairs, it could only be the Inquisition’s Spymaster. 

Katria had her feet rested on her desk and stretched back as Leliana approached. “It’s a little late for a business call.” 

She crossed the room, hands behind her back. “Figured I should see you before that bottle is empty.” 

“You almost missed it,” Katria remarked, even though it was half full. 

Leliana sat on the other side of the desk, back straight. “You had an argument with Cullen.” 

“You’ll have to be more specific,” she said, chin rested in her palm. 

“He should have told you about the lyrium,” she admitted. 

Katria leaned back, brow furrowed. Why was Leliana trying to fight Cullen’s battles? Didn’t their Spymaster have anything better to do than meddle in their petty disagreements? 

“Why isn’t he telling me that?” she asked. 

Leliana ignored her. “His omission does not warrant your threats.” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “My threats?” 

“Cullen has been a valuable asset to the Inquisition,” she said. 

“I never said he-,” 

Leliana leveled a cool gaze in her direction. “If you choose to remove him from his post, there will be consequences.” 

Katria’s skin prickled as they sat in a tense silence, both contemplating. 

“Excuse me?” she finally said. 

Leliana had a folder behind her back and placed it on her desk. “Cullen told me your final words to him were a promise to take drastic action because of his…” 

“Lie,” Katria finished for her. “And that is hardly accurate. I never threatened to do anything of the sort to him.” She huffed. “Perhaps his subconscious thought so because he feels guilty and believes that would be the right course of action.” 

Leliana shook her head. “We can’t have this kind of discord among the Inquisition’s leaders.” 

“Of course,” Katria said. “Which is why you’re threatening to blackmail me. To promote unity, right?” 

“I needed to stop you from doing anything brash,” she replied simply. 

She laced her fingers together on her desk. “And you think whatever dirt you have on me will do that?” she asked. “What makes you think I care at all about who knows my secrets?” 

Leliana’s gaze did not waver—she knew, with confidence, that Katria’s misdeeds shamed her. Churned intense waves of guilt in her at night when she was alone. 

“You would care.” 

Katria released her clasped hands. “Alright then, Spymaster, show me what I should be so afraid of.” 

Leliana reached forward to flip open the folder, stuffed with aged parchment. She looked down at it, her surprise only betrayed by a rise in the thin line of her brow. The scrolls of parchments were blank. 

“Terrifying stuff,” Katria remarked, lip ticked up slightly. “Not, of course, as terrifying as what’s in here.” She pulled a folder from the bottom stack of her own reports. 

Leliana frowned. “Foster.” 

She placed her entire palm over the folder. “Yes, Foster stole it. Still has awful footwork, but damn if he isn’t fast.” Her eyes narrowed. “He was more than happy to bring it to me. Seeing as I’m the Inquisitor.” 

Leliana was silent for a moment, gears in that ruthless mind of hers working overtime. “I underestimated you.” 

“Join the club,” she said. “Which consists of quite literally every person I have ever met.” 

“That is no surprise,” Leliana replied. “Perhaps it is your behavior that causes people to think that way of you.” 

“Perhaps that’s why I do it.” 

She sighed and shook her head. “You cannot remove Cullen from his post because of his lie. He…needs the job as much as we need him.” 

“I am aware,” Katria muttered, thumb glancing the scar on her cheek. “And as obnoxious as I find him—and you, by the way—I’m not going to shake up the Inquisition hierarchy anytime soon.” 

Leliana closed her empty folder. “I should not have tried to coerce you,” she said. “Cullen…was convinced of your decision, but refused to act. He thought he deserved it.” 

“He overreacted,” Katria said. 

“And gave you too little credit,” she added. 

She reached for her bottle to pour herself another drink. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

“To your face, anyway,” Leliana said, standing. 

Katria grinned at that, while she rested her feet back on the lip of her desk. “Have you got a folder on everyone at the Inquisition, Spymaster?” 

“Just the ones who matter,” Leliana remarked—she was already headed for the door, footsteps quiet as usual. 

Katria said nothing; she just brought her glass to her lips for a long sip as the door clicked shut a few moments later. 

It was admirable what lengths Leliana had gone to protect Cullen. She would have done the same--maybe even more--for Josephine. She clearly cared deeply for her fellow advisors and their well-being, even if she would not admit it or show it. Katria wondered if she, or anyone in the Inquisition, would ever feel so strongly for her.


	17. Chapter 17

Cullen did not sleep following his disagreement—shouting match—with the Inquisitor. He did not even attempt to find his bed because then his worries would swell to an untenable degree with nothing to distract him. 

He half-expected to receive a note from Trevelyan that said _you’re fired_. Or maybe something more offensive and creative given her colorful vernacular. Most of the time, he felt like he deserved that fate. He’d told Leliana as much because she’d clearly sensed his distress. He feared confiding in Cassandra for what she might do in turn to Trevelyan. 

Nothing came for him, though. Not even the Inquisitor herself. A candle flickered in her room most of the evening—he could see the edge of the light bleeding through the curtains on her balcony. But she never appeared. 

It was early when Cullen finally left his office. Bitterly cold, the darkness only lifting east of him because the sun would soon begin its ascent. At this time of day, the courtyard was only sparsely lit. A few dwindling torches whose light was blocked by patrolling soldiers. 

Cullen jogged down the stairs and spotted more intense light now that the lower courtyard was visible. Near the stables, a ring of torches had been jammed into the dirt. The Inquisitor was in the middle of them. He could not see what she was doing from so far away. 

He considered passing her without a word. Perhaps she was still contemplating whether to relieve him from his post. His presence would certainly do nothing to increase his chances of staying. Then he remembered that during their argument the previous day, he had not even offered an apology. That, at least, could help relieve some of the tension growing between them. 

Cullen trotted down to her, finally able to see her clearly, blades glinting in orange light, as she practiced. There was no one with her. No training dummy. Just her, two daggers, and whatever was going on in her head. 

She darted around the defined space, blocking imaginary hits and lurching forward to slay nonexistent opponents. Frankly, she looked like a lunatic. 

Trevelyan spotted him and stopped—not looking embarrassed in the least. Her lips did purse as she straightened, clearly still annoyed with him.

“You’re not ever going to be faster than her,” Cullen said. 

She frowned. “I have no choice but to try.” 

“You’re stronger,” he said. “And smarter. That’s how you beat her.” 

“Smarter?” she began, brow raised. “Is this your attempt to make up for yesterday?” 

Cullen sighed, shoulders loose under his coat. “I am sorry for losing my temper. And I’m sorry for my omission.” 

“Lie,” Trevelyan corrected. “It was a lie. I would know. I do it a lot.” 

“Yes,” he admitted. “My lie.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments, her watching him while he inspected his boots. She finally huffed. 

“Maker, this is the problem with you,” she said. “This pitiful self-flagellation you’ve practically turned into a sport.” 

His head lifted. “What-,” 

She continued, ignoring him. “We have one stupid fight, and you’ve got such a poor opinion of yourself that you think—you believe that means you’re unworthy of this job. Or you think I’m so petty and vindictive I’d find any reason to send you away. I don’t know which is worse.” 

“How did you know about my concerns?” he asked. 

“Leliana came to me,” she replied, which made Cullen stiffen. “She threatened me.” 

His brow arched in. “I _never_ told her to-,” 

“I know,” she said, raising her palm to him.

Cullen pivoted slightly, pressing his fingers into his temple. “Maker’s breath, that was so inappropriate. I told her that in confidence, and she turned around and-,” 

“Leliana was only doing what she thought was best for the Inquisition,” Trevelyan said. “If I were crazy enough to fire you, then I probably should be blackmailed.” 

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said, because a third time wouldn’t hurt. 

She let her hands flop to her side. “I wasn’t going to do anything. I was…” Her jaw clenched tight. “It was frustrating for me. You sit around and call me all these fancy titles all the time because you insist they convey respect, but you really don’t respect me at all, do you? Not enough to-,” 

“No, please, Inquisitor,” he interjected hastily. “I do respect you. I have—always respected what you’ve done for the Inquisition, even when I didn’t agree with your methods. That’s why I wanted you to be Inquisitor in the first place.” 

“I thought you just lost the vote,” she said. 

“No,” Cullen insisted. “I was in favor.” 

It was Trevelyan’s turn to look at her feet—even the slightest hint of praise sent her shrinking inwards. 

“We’ll consider the matter settled, then,” she said. “Unless you have any other deep, dark secrets you’ve been hiding. Like that you style your hair, for instance.” 

“No, no,” he said, then cleared his throat. “To both of those.” 

She grinned—she was far too good at detecting lies—before slipping past him and between the torches she’d erected. His shoulder followed her so he could speak a final time. 

“Inquisitor, I am sorry for what Leliana did,” he said. “It was not my intention. Whatever she said to threaten you…” 

Trevelyan stopped, smile gone, which surprised him. She was not angry, just thoughtful, eyes distant before she turned to meet his gaze. 

“Come by my office in a few hours,” she said. “Would you?” 

“Of course,” he replied hastily, because he’d paused from confusion to start. “Certainly.” 

She raised a hand to him and continued her walk back to the stairs. “See you then.” 

Cullen contemplated as she retreated, trying to quell the hint of panic that clenched in his chest. Surely she had not changed her mind about things. What could she say later that couldn’t be disclosed now? Was she still angry? She hadn’t seemed it, but Cullen was never competent at reading emotions anyway. Especially when the person he was trying to understand was so good at hiding them. 

===

Katria knew she had alarmed Cullen by asking him to her office. She could see it in the crease in his forehead, his slightly wider brown eyes. It was not her intention to frighten him. Out in the courtyard, by the stables, was simply no place to have the conversation she needed to have. 

Not to fire him, no. Instead, she planned to tell him exactly what Leliana had threatened to. 

Katria was emphatically not a fan of those kinds of personal disclosures. But what she hated more was how her and Cullen’s inability to understand one another was making it hard to operate the Inquisition. 

The knowledge that he was keeping secrets from her had been infuriating, hurtful—and yet she too had not been forthcoming about her background. Hiding her past like she always had, except this time there was more at stake. The Inquisition had to work together, or surely they’d fail. 

Katria understood that telling Cullen these things meant they would probably never be friends. He might not think of her kindly, but at least he would understand. There would be no more hiding, no more mysterious file somewhere that she should fear. That’s what the Inquisition needed, and she was willing to give it, at least this once. 

Cullen came to her room after she washed up and had a snooze-worthy lunch with a group of nobles about developments in Empress Celene’s court in Orlais. Josephine was itching to settle things there, but she had not managed to secure an invitation to any of the Winter Palace soirees. Probably because Katria’s behavior around nobles did not make them clamor to have her in their homes. 

He hesitantly scaled the steps—still nervous, which Katria tried not to roll her eyes at. “Come sit,” she said, gesturing to the chair across from her desk. 

Cullen complied, and she spoke as soon as he was settled because she knew otherwise they’d sit in an awkward silence. 

“Why didn’t you ask about what dirt Leliana had on me?” 

His eyes widened. “Uh—well, I…It didn’t seem my place. To pry into such an emotional topic.” 

“Normally, I would agree with you,” Katria said. “And then I would deny having any emotions period, much less difficult ones.” She drummed her fingers against her desk. “However, this time…I think you deserve to know.” 

“I don’t want you to feel forced, Inquisitor,” he said. 

She lifted her hand. “I don’t. This is something I hope will put us on the same page, so we’re not-,” She vaguely gestured between them. “Hindering the Inquisition’s progress with these…false impressions and animosity.” 

Cullen squeezed his hands as they rested in his lap. “That’s very…” 

“Mature?” she finished. “Is it that hard for you to say something positive?” 

He leaned back. “It is actually very hard for me to acknowledge that you are taking something seriously.” 

Katria opened the small drawer to her left, snorting. “Yeah well, it sucks, so don’t expect me to do it again.” 

She dropped a small book with a frayed binding between them, on top of the reports that automatically replenished on her desk almost hourly. 

“Have you read this?” 

Cullen peered at the spine, squinting because the words were faded. “I didn’t think you were into superstitions. Or reading.”

Katria flipped it open, running her index finger down a stained page that had been bookmarked many times before. “There’s a chapter on preventing magic formation in the earliest stages.” 

His brow wrinkled, doubtful, because of course he knew that wasn’t possible. “Where did you find this?” 

“At a manor in the Dales,” Katria said, watching as he slid back with the book between two hands. “But I remember my father had a copy when I was young.” He was not looking at her, eyes sliding back and forth across the page. “He hired two local Templars in Ostwick to perform all that on me. What you’re reading.” 

Cullen stopped—he’d gotten to the bottom. The worst part, where the reader is told that submerging a child in water until their breath is nearly lost is a surefire way to “kill” the magic in them. 

“You can’t be serious,” he said. 

Katria leaned back. “I am. My father hated magic and was convinced I would be a mage because of my mother’s philandering.” 

He returned the book to the desk, distraught. “I’m so sorry. I did not realize Leliana’s information on you involved-,” 

She tried to smile, but shook her head instead. “No, no. That’s not it.” She wrapped her knuckle against the brittle cover of the book. “This just…might help you understand.” 

“Understand what?” he asked. 

Katria had poured herself a drink before all this, as insurance against her emotions, and slid it over so it was directly beneath her. 

“After years of enduring this abuse from my father and the Templars he paid, I was angry. I couldn’t understand what was so bad about being a mage that I had to suffer to avoid it.” Katria pinched the bridge of her nose. “My whole—um, childhood was a bit of a clusterfuck, and I channeled that into a real hatred for the Order.” 

“The Templars who did that do not represent what the Order stood for,” Cullen said. “Not all of them-,” 

“Everyone at the Ostwick Circle knew what my father was doing,” Katria protested. “The Knight-Commander. All of them.” She sharply waved her hand. “But that’s not the point. The fact is that warranted or not, I wanted revenge.” 

“Revenge how?” he asked. 

“Any way I could,” Katria replied. “I was…so young, maybe 17. A noblewoman with no experience outside the Trevelyan estate.” She took a sip of her drink, and unable to continue, decided to finish it. 

She returned the glass to her desk. It scratched against the wood in their awkward silence.

“I would—seduce the Templars, is all,” she finally said. “Outside contact even for them was strictly regulated. I would…coerce young recruits into, you know, sneaking out or breaking curfew.” 

Cullen’s lips had thinned as she spoke, but he betrayed no other emotions. “Why would you do that?” 

“Because eventually it got them kicked out of the Order,” she said. “For those who were already addicted to lyrium…” 

“Damn it, Katria.” 

Cullen shot up, palm slapping against the arm of his chair before he stalked a few steps away. Katria’s hand curled into a fist, nails digging hard into flesh—after all these years, she hated how the guilt made her feel. 

He spun back around, scowling. “How many men did you do this to?” 

Maker, that made things even worse. She swallowed, not meeting his gaze. “I…don’t remember.” 

“Don’t _remember_?” he repeated angrily. 

Katria finally stood. “I stopped eventually,” she said. “I-I was 25. 26. I knew it was wrong.” 

“That’s how you knew. About me,” he muttered. “Even when I didn’t tell you, that’s how.” 

She felt a heaviness behind her eyes, tears threatening to spill out, or at least prickle the corners. That response was entirely unacceptable, so she faced her glass and blinked hard. 

“I know better than anyone what you’re going through,” she said, after she cleared her throat.

Cullen was still for a few moments, his silence hurting most of all. “Did any of those Templars die? From the withdrawal?” 

Her throat was in on the conspiracy now, tightening so she could not speak. She furtively rubbed her palm against her eye. 

“A few.” 

Cullen’s head rolled back so his eyes met the ceiling. She stole a glance at him—his anger had subsided, but the disappointment that remained did not make her feel any better. He sighed. 

“I see why Leliana thought this good information to blackmail you with.” 

Katria pushed her hand into her hair, fingers digging into her scalp. “You can’t imagine how much I regret my actions,” she said, then let her arm drop. “Maybe you do. I don’t know.” 

She sat back down with shoulders hunched. Her hand was shaking, but she unmanaged to uncork the bottle beside her. 

“Now you know, so…we don’t have to talk about it anymore.” 

Katria was convinced he would storm off—maybe turn the tables and try to get her fired. But instead she heard his boots clicking against her stone floor. Closer and closer until the chair across from her creaked, and he was sitting again. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he said. 

She stopped, hesitantly lifting her head to him. “You’re not angry?” 

He took a moment to think. “No,” he said. 

Katria shook her head. “Maker, you must have been a shitty Templar.” 

“Excuse me?” he asked incredulously. 

She met his gaze. “If you can look at me and not hate me for what I’ve done, that means…” She let out a heavy breath. “That means that you’ve been just as bad. In my experience, people aren’t forgiving unless they seek that for themselves.” 

“Maybe,” he said simply, which surprised her. 

Katria was uncomfortable now and scooted back in her seat holding her glass. “Well I…I mean, I appreciate that. So many people don’t get what it means to…regret your actions, but not be able to fix them.” 

“You can’t dwell on the past,” he said. “All you can do is commit to being better now.” 

Katria rubbed her temple again. “I am trying,” she said. “But I can’t be a perfect Chantry boy like-,” 

“You have been an excellent Inquisitor so far,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Katria.” 

She appreciated that he used her real name even outside of his anger. “That didn’t look so hard,” she said, lip ticked up. “I mean, think how many less syllables Katria is compared to Inquisitor. Or Trevelyan. With all the time you save, you could probably rustle up another trebuchet to calibrate.” 

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, putting his arms out to stand. 

Cullen let out another sigh once he was upright. “You are…quite different from the person I thought you were.” 

“Better,” she said. “Funnier, certainly.” 

He did not even crack a smile at her joke. All severity, even when complimenting her. “I was not brave enough to expose my weakness to you. I feared how you would react. You just did what I could not.” 

Katria finally poured herself a glass of whiskey—some emotional disclosure she could tolerate, but this was branching into realms of which she was not well-versed. 

“I suppose we could sit here and speculate about my reasons for doing that,” she said, lifting her glass. “Or you could leave me here to drink in peace.” 

“Do you have a preference?” he asked. 

Katria looked up at him, realized he was grinning wryly, and smiled back. “What do you think?” 

“I’ll see you in the War Room, Inquisitor.” 

“Until then, Commander.” 

Cullen turned and crossed the room to exit—she just glimpsed the top of his blonde head and the fur of his coat as he disappeared down the stairs. Katria noticed his smile had not faded as he left. Neither had hers.


	18. Chapter 18

Cullen attempted to regain some sense of normalcy in his life after the Inquisitor returned. Which was actually quite easy because there was plenty of work to be done that kept him from other more pernicious thoughts. 

His emotions were a thorny mix of anger, admiration, and disbelief. What she’d told him—what she’d done—it was deplorable. His withdrawals were a daily struggle; a fight. A relentless, heavy march through pain and grogginess and nightmares. She’d so thoughtlessly inflicted that on others, but what was withdrawal compared to Tranquility? Compared to the horrible things he’d seen—and condoned—under Meredith’s reign in Kirkwall? 

He could only imagine how hard it was for her to speak to him. He could have technically known what it was like a few weeks ago, but he’d refused to be honest. For her open up to such vulnerability with zero confidence about his response—it was more than he had done for her, and it was more than he deserved. 

But of course she had not done it for him; she’d done it for the sake of the Inquisition. A tremendous personal sacrifice like she’d made before. Emotional this time, rather than the physical risk she took facing Corypheus alone. He suspected the latter was much easier for her to stomach. 

Cullen wanted to ensure her sacrifice was not for nothing—he was determined that they work cohesively to stop Corypheus. And more importantly, stop Samson. 

Katria had collected letters from lyrium smugglers while she was in the Emerald Graves. They spoke of red lyrium, and Samson’s attempts to amass as large of a stockpile as he could. Cutting off Samson’s supply was the first step to reversing the damage done to the Order under his command. 

Cullen poured over the correspondence between the smugglers, even when the light in his office wasn’t good, even when his headaches made the words blurry. Samson wasn’t getting his lyrium from the dwarves, which meant he was cultivating it somewhere else. 

He assumed the Inquisitor would want an update on his findings. He’d given her cursory greetings in the War Room, but they had not interacted with her since they last spoke in her office days ago. 

The men tasked with guarding Katria’s door told Cullen that she’d left for the tavern a few hours ago—that meant she was still there, rubbing shoulders with his men and regaling them with her far-fetched stories. It was hardly dusk, so apparently she planned to begin her festivities earlier than usual. 

When Cullen entered the tavern, hardly able to think over the din of voices and Maryden’s singing, he felt as if most of the room shrunk away from him. He appeared in full armor—Commander of the Inquisition—in a place where people came to relax and unwind. As Cullen crossed the room, he noticed how nicely the floors had been refinished at Katria’s request. 

She was in the corner with members of her inner-circle who shared drinking as a hobby. Dorian, Varric, the Iron Bull. Sera, of course, because she literally lived in the tavern and could drop down whenever she pleased. 

Hawke was with them, too, and Cullen tried to hide his annoyance. They had worked together in Kirkwall to bring down Meredith, but not because there was any friendliness between them. Hawke had been a thorn in his side since his arrival, and though he respected what Hawke did for the city, that didn’t mean Cullen was a fan. 

Fortunately, Katria was sitting at the edge of the long table, chin rested in her hand as she listened to the Iron Bull. She had long, elegant fingers that reached all the way up her cheek, covering the scar there. 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said, once he was beside her. 

She straightened and turned to him. “Commander, you’ve come to join us for a drink.” 

“Tempting offer, but I need to speak with you about an urgent matter,” he said. 

Varric spoke up from the end of the table. “Oh, come on, Curly. One drink wouldn’t hurt.” 

“It might,” Katria said as she stood. “His tolerance for alcohol is so low one ale might send him dancing on the tables.” 

“I’d like to see that,” Bull interjected, grinning. 

Cullen just scoffed at them, while Katria tried to extract her long legs from the bench she’d been sitting on. She grabbed her glass by the lip and tapped it on the table in front of Hawke. 

“Could you get me another one of these?” 

Hawke smirked. “If you ask nicely.” 

“I wish I could, but I left my daggers upstairs,” she replied. 

He joined her as she stood, snorting at her joke, and apparently complying with her request—since when did Hawke do anything nice for anyone? 

“Knight-Captain,” he said as he passed Cullen, who just frowned in reply. 

“He knows that isn’t my title,” Cullen said. 

Katria gestured him to the door. “Maybe if you weren’t so fun to mess with he wouldn’t call you that.” 

He followed her as she crossed in front of Maryden. “He and I have fundamentally different ideas of what _fun_ is.” 

It was quieter outside the tavern and almost dark. Cullen hurried a few steps so he was walking beside her through the courtyard. 

“What _is_ your idea of fun, exactly?” she asked. 

Cullen had not pulled her away from the tavern to discuss personal matters, but he noted that perhaps he do more for the Inquisition if he got along better with its Inquisitor. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Your hobbies,” she said. “You know, things you do other than work?” 

He cleared his throat. “I…don’t really do anything other than work.” 

“Oh, I know,” she replied. They began hiking up the stairs to the battlements. “So if you could do something for fun, what would it be?” 

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Read.” 

“It’s official. You’re not human. Just some—work demon from the Fade.” 

Cullen gave a short laugh. “I like a good game of chess too.” 

“That’s a start, I guess,” she said, giving him a critical look. “We’ve put a set in the Chantry garden.” 

“I saw it,” Cullen admitted. He pushed open the door to his office to let her through. “I’ve been busy.” 

Katria walked into the room and leaned against his desk. “Oh, I see, you’re afraid to lose.” 

“I’m very good, I can assure you,” he said as he circled around the other side of her. He gathered up the letters she’d found in the Emerald Graves. 

She crossed her arms. “I’m just not sure I can take your word for that, given your penchant for lying.” 

Cullen let the letters wilt in his hands. “Inquisitor, I promise I-,” 

“Maker, I was kidding,” she interjected. 

“Well I am serious about my intentions never to lie again,” Cullen said. “And if you don’t believe me about my chess ability, I’m happy to prove it.” 

“I’m sure you could,” Katria replied. “I’m certainly on a losing streak as of late.” 

She seemed to realize that she was admitting weakness and straightened, gesturing to the letters she’d found in a desperate bid to change the subject. 

“Did the smugglers you interrogated give up anything?” 

Cullen was not one to miss an opportunity to talk about business. “Samson is mining for red lyrium in the Dales, near a town called Sahrnia. We could cripple his operation by destroying that mine.” 

“I don’t think we can ignore what’s happening with the Wardens,” Katria said. 

He put the letters down. “You intend to return to the Western Approach?” 

Her crossed arms tensed, annoyance plain in her pursed lips. “Stroud insisted we meet him as soon as possible. The situation is dire. I promised I wouldn’t visit that Maker-foresaken desert again unless I had to.” 

“Afterwards, then,” Cullen said. “What Samson is doing to the Templars-,” 

Katria straightened. “I know it’s important to you, Cullen. I promise I’m doing everything I can.” 

“I know you are,” he said. “And I appreciate it.” 

“I should get back to the tavern,” she remarked. “My drink is probably getting lonely.” 

“Of course, Inquisitor.” 

Katria found the door while he tucked some documents away—he heard the hinges squeak, but only halfway. She leaned back inside to speak. 

“I tend to the garden most mornings after I train,” she said. “We could meet for a quick game?” 

Cullen met her gaze while clearing his throat. “Oh, um-,” 

_I have to work._ That was not the right response. Maybe not even the response he wanted to give. 

“Yes, I suppose, I—we could do that. Quickly. For a quick game, I mean.” 

He had absolutely botched that reply, as he did with every social conversation he had. But Katria did not laugh, or comment, her dark brow just quirked slightly and she nodded. 

“See you then.” 

She shut the door behind her, depleting most of the light from the room. Cullen scrubbed his brow and circled to his chair, resting his other palm flat on his desk. 

He greatly resisted his urge to suspect Katria of having nefarious motives. Or a flippant one. She was categorically not the person he’d convinced himself she was, which was difficult to face because it meant—it meant he might actually like her. That they could, Maker forbid, be _friends_.


	19. Chapter 19

Katria was in the Chantry’s garden weeding her embrium plant when Cullen arrived, precisely on time. She watched him traverse the stone path, then awkwardly shuffle to the chess set where he sat and tried out three different placements for his hands before setting them on his knees. It was remarkable that a man with so much confidence on the battlefield fumbled with every other social interaction he had. 

She stood from the flower bed, wiping one dirty palm along the hem of her embroidered shirt, which would no doubt irritate their ambassador. She walked over and sat down in front of him. 

“I’m impressed you actually showed up,” she said. 

He quirked an eyebrow. “I’m impressed you’re somewhat on time.” 

Katria fingered one of the elegantly carved chess pieces, wiggling it on its base. “I know you’ve been waiting with baited breath to lose.” 

Cullen gestured with a gloved hand to her, indicating she should make the first move. “Don’t you think as Commander of the Inquisition’s forces I’d be somewhat competent at this whole strategy business?” 

“I thought they just hired you to look pretty,” she said, moving her pawn forward two spaces. 

“You’ve made that joke before,” he remarked. “How unoriginal.” 

Katria was surprised he had remembered that. “Good to know you’re keeping track. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.” 

“There’s quite enough… _sass_ in the Inquisition between you and Dorian,” he said. He also moved one of his pawns forward. 

“Dorian plays too, you know,” she said, resting her chin in her palm.

“He told me as much. I offered to play him after you all returned from the Western Approach.” 

Katria smiled slightly. “He’d rather stay here, I’m sure. No fresh sliced grapes at the ready for breakfast in the desert.” 

Cullen gave no reply. Instead he contemplated his next move with a small wrinkle in his brow. Katria rarely took such time to consider strategy—she moved pieces around until her opponent looked the other way and she could cheat. She wondered if Cullen would ever be so careless, but doubted it. 

He finally selected his move, while she did hers in turn a few seconds later. Her confidence did not seem to intimidate him. 

They traded turns back and forth, peppering conversation in between, particularly when Katria captured her first piece. Cullen took the time to note she played recklessly, like she did everything else. He did not peel his eyes away from the board even for a second. It was Cullen after all—serious, competitive. He was not going to pass up on a chance to beat her. 

He cleared his throat while waiting for her to make her move. “We’ve never…gone this long without discussing Inquisition business. Or shouting at one another.” 

She sat back. “Listen, if you’d prefer things remain professional-,”

“No, no,” he said hastily, eyes lifting to meet hers. 

“I don’t want you to think we have to be friends just because—of what I told you,” she said, scratching her cheek. “Because that was to make things…better for the Inquisition. For us as leaders. And to be honest, 50% of the time I regret telling you.” 

He lifted his elbow from his knee to straighten. “Don’t regret it.” 

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “But we can stop talking about it.” She vaguely waved her hand by her forehead. “Tell me how you’ve been feeling.” 

His eyes averted down, though he attempted to look nonchalant. “Fine.” 

Katria pushed her knight diagonally a few spaces with one finger. “I know the nightmares are worse without the lyrium.” 

“It’s true,” he admitted, rubbing his large palms together. “It is nothing I can’t handle.” 

She had no interest in pushing him into a conversation about his emotions, but still, knowing intimately the pain he faced from withdrawal made her restless when there was nothing she could do about it. 

A pair of boots clicked on the stone path behind her, coming from the Chantry, before the person approaching stopped at her chair.

“Inquisitor.” 

“What do you-,” Katria had twisted around, and spotting the messenger, was mildly less annoyed by the interruption. “Oh, hi, Foster.” 

He handed her a note. “From Leliana.” 

Katria turned back around and flipped it open. “Maker, this never ceases,” she muttered. 

She scanned the parchment than handed it back. “Tell her to send another letter, and if we don’t get what we want, we take it.” 

“Yes, Your Worship,” Foster said with a slight bow. 

She crossed her arms. “How many times have I told you to call me Katria?” 

“Not enough times, apparently,” he replied. 

Katria snorted. “I see you need training in fighting as well as humor.” She moved one of her pieces deep into Cullen’s territory. She shifted slightly as the knight of his she’d stolen dug into the meat of her thigh.

“I sent your blades to Harriet,” she said to Foster. “They need sharpening and you’ve worn the handles down. Don’t let Avery take them.” 

“I won’t, my lady,” he said. 

She craned her neck around to glare at him. “That’s worse.” 

Foster only smiled slightly and walked away after a final salute. 

Katria huffed and faced Cullen, who looked concerned. 

“If you need to attend to that matter-,”

“No, its fine,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You see, Cullen, I have this fantastic ability to say _no_ to work-related matters.” 

“Should I envy you?” he asked, pushing his queen across the board. 

“For many reasons,” she said, taking her turn to make a move that would not avoid the inevitable. “My chess ability, for one.” 

“I can’t say I envy that,” Cullen remarked. His knight slid across to the other side of the board, and she frowned because she’d left him an opening. 

“Checkmate,” he added. 

“That’s impossible,” Katria said, arms braced against her chair as she leaned forward. 

He chuckled. “Dorian cheats at this as well.” 

Katria rolled her eyes and retrieved his piece from deep in the crevice of her chair, letting it clatter on the board. 

Cullen picked it up to inspect it. “You’re going to ruin the pieces like that.” 

She crossed her arms and slumped down. “I would have put it in my sleeve, but you are far too attentive.” 

As if proof of his attentiveness, he squinted at her crossed arms, then frowned. She had pushed her sleeve up unintentionally, revealing a nasty yellow and purple bruise. 

“Where did you get that?” he asked. 

She quickly covered it. “It was a gift from a set of stairs I tried to descend after a night drinking with Bull.” 

Cullen reached for her arm just below the elbow and pulled it to him—she forgot that under his stupid coat and heavy armor there was a decently muscular warrior. 

“Hey!” Katria said in protest, but he had already pushed her sleeve the rest of the way up, where the bruising continued. 

“You’re lying,” he said. “You’ve been training too hard.” 

She tried to pull back, but he would not budge. “It was an accident.” 

“You could have broken your arm!” 

Katria finally managed to release herself from his grip. “I’m fine.” 

“Have you gone to a healer?” he asked. 

“It’s just a bruise.” 

He sighed and rubbed his brow. “I understand your desire to train hard to be your best, but if you overwork yourself, you won’t be ready when it really matters.” 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” she muttered. 

“I-,” 

They were interrupted again, this time from behind Cullen’s chair. 

“Commander.” 

He turned, annoyed, but still accepted the report offered to him. 

“Speaking of being overworked,” Katria said with a pointed look. 

His eyes flicked up to her, lips pursed. “It’s not the same.” He dismissed the messenger with a wave of his hand—the man quickly retreated, while Cullen leaned forward. 

“You need to focus on what really matters right now,” he said. “Not obsess over some silly duel.” 

“It’s not silly,” she snapped. 

“I don’t like to see you get hurt, Katria. And that’s all that has happened since you brought that woman here.”

She leaned forward too, so they were maybe seven or eight inches apart. His stubble was darker and more pronounced that close. 

“I won’t get hurt if I keep practicing.” 

He gestured to her arm. “Apparently not.” 

Katria shook her head. “Is this what’s it like to not be disliked by you?” 

“Having me express concern for your well-being?” he began. “Yes, that is generally how I treat people who are my friends.”

She stood. “Well it sucks.” 

Cullen joined her with a disapproving look. “You’re acting childish.” 

“I’m not acting,” she muttered. 

“Promise that you will be more careful,” he said with a heavy exhale. 

She shrugged. “I could promise that, but only because my word means nothing.” 

“Well promise and mean it then,” he replied. “Please.” 

Katria did not know if she liked this new Cullen—the one who cared for her well-being like a perfectly normal friend would. It was unsettling because before the Inquisition, she had not met many people whose kindness or concern was not hiding an ulterior motive. 

She clenched her jaw tight before speaking. “I will—try to be more careful.” 

“Whatever the Wardens are planning, we need you ready,” he said. “Not injured.” 

Katria paused to consider that maybe Cullen’s motive wasn’t friendship but _work_. Keeping her in one piece to ensure the Inquisition accomplished its goals. 

“Duly noted,” she said bitterly. Then she gestured to the report still in his hand--he would not wave aside his work like she did for him. “Now go tend to that urgent matter before your head explodes.” 

“It’s true I need to leave,” he admitted. “But I—you should-,” He cleared his throat. “This was nice. Time. A nice time.” 

Her expression softened. Perhaps Cullen couldn’t decide for himself whether business or friendship motivated him, considering his dizzying oscillation between genuine concern and discussion of Inquisition imperatives. 

“We’ll do it again,” she said. “But next time, I’ll cheat, and win, and get away with it.” 

He cracked a smile at that. “Challenge accepted, Inquisitor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well 40,000 words later, and I've caught up to myself! Thanks, law school. :| I will try to keep updating at a consistent clip, but apologies if its not as frequent as before. Know that y'all's comments and kudos give me inspiration each day to keep chugging along! <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for being patient with me!

Cullen enjoyed the few breaks he took from his work, but unlike what many insisted, they did not alleviate the pain he endured from his withdrawal. No matter what he did—no matter how little or how much he worked—his symptoms would increase in intensity throughout the day. The healer told him to rest, and eat, and Katria did the same, but it frustrated him because that never helped. The pain was still debilitating, his performance poorer as a result, and his mental state further devastated by thoughts that one day he’d have to give this all up. 

He’d had a particularly difficult night. A headache turning into tremors, turning into restless sleep that culminated in him bolting out of bed slick with sweat from a nightmare. All that tossing and restlessness meant by mid-morning the next day Cullen was exhausted. Fatigue often plagued him during that time, but this was worse than usual. 

No matter his health, the work marched on. He was needed in the soldier’s temporary quarters outside Skyhold, to ensure the final transition to the newly completed barracks went smoothly. Almost the entire castle was habitable at this point, and just waiting for Josephine’s (unnecessary) design touches. 

That included the courtyard, where their Ambassador had commissioned a series of heavy dark blue tapestries for the castle walls. With the Inquisition’s symbol on them, though there would probably be some with Katria’s face soon enough. 

Cullen’s exit from his office was punctuated by a loud clang below him. His eyes immediately dropped down, annoyed because the noise only worsened his headache. He spotted a cluster of people around the sparring ring, with the Inquisitor, of course. Her hair was pulled back from her face, hands on her hips and holding up the frayed hem of her shirt. 

He did not immediately descend the stairs, just rested the length of his arms along the parapet and watched as Katria stepped into the ring. Another dark-haired woman was beside her—Emely, smaller, hair more neatly soothed, holding two daggers like she was born for it. 

Cullen rubbed between his brow—he would never understand Katria’s insistence on fighting this woman. Proving her worth as a combatant. Did she have such a chip on her shoulder that she refused to lose, even once, to a single person? 

The two circled one another, Katria offering no wise crack or sarcastic words before the fight like she normally would. She was serious when it mattered to her, apparently. 

Cullen pushed back from the wall. He did not want to watch Katria get beaten again. Defeated, or injured worse than before. 

As he started for the stairs, he saw Katria skirt around the ring. He feared at first she was taking the defensive right away, careful because of her last loss. Not the right strategy, in his opinion. 

But she wasn’t taking the defensive. She found Emely’s left flank after taking a hit of her own and slammed into her, pressing all her body weight forward and then down. 

Emely scrambled and then fell hard. She was quick to recover, but Katria was already over her, heaving her up and into the wooden fence surrounding them. It splintered all around her as she crashed through it. 

Smarter and _much_ stronger.

Emely recovered quickly, like she did everything else, and was following Katria back into the ring, swing for swing. She was remarkably precise, landing hits in places that hurt the most. Not Katria, half as much as he expected. 

He had stopped on the stairs to watch them, mesmerized like the others by the smooth transition between their moves, interrupted only by their various blocks that made metal clang loud in the silence. 

Before he knew it, he was halfway down the stairs, descending step by step with his eyes still on the Inquisitor. He made a slow descent while they worked themselves into a fury. 

Katria had yet to land a good hit like her first one, and she’d get tired the longer she kept going. He watched her skip a few steps back, eyes scanning as Emely lurched towards her. Like she was trying to decipher what move was next in the litany she’d memorized. 

Her list of moves was not long enough, though, because Emely feigned left and then with an impressive twist clipped Katria hard on the jaw. 

Katria staggered back, then onto her ass. 

Emely smirked, spinning her dagger around her hand. She stayed low as she spoke. 

“You see, Inquisitor-,” 

Katria cut her off, because she had not stayed down for a micro-second, which was impressive considering the force of the hit. She’d fallen back, then swung around and forward, absorbing the energy in one fell swoop. 

Emely raised both swords to block, but Katria forced them downwards. She struck Emely’s chest with her heel of her foot, sending her on her back and through the dirt once again. As Emely threw her hands up to stand, Katria kicked one blade out of her hand—Emely held on so tight her wrist bent back and she hissed in pain. 

Before Katria could restrain her, Emely leapt up, one dagger at the ready. With a low growl that Cullen could hear given his proximity, she barreled forward. After a flurry of clangs, Katria was hit on the thigh—a cut that would be killer, were they fighting in real combat. 

Emely was at a disadvantage with only one weapon, and Katria leveraged that the minute weakness showed—her one blade was pinned by both Katria’s, who then twisted sideways and pushed in with her shoulder. 

Katria forced Emely to the ground and wrenched her arm over her head—Emely squirmed ferociously, trying to use her chest and legs to fling Katria off her, to no avail. Katria placed her blade against Emely’s neck. 

“Seems I’m not too prissy to beat you,” she said. 

Emely was scowling now, teeth bared. “I yield,” she spat.

Cullen could see Katria’s smile, even from here. She tapped the tip of her blunted blade against Emely’s forehead. 

“Good to hear.” 

Katria stood, and offered a hand to Emely—she naturally refused and scrambled up herself. The tension surrounding the ring, generated by Katria’s students, had dissipated following her victory. Cullen noted that none of Katria’s companions were present, not even Dorian or Hawke. She clearly had not given them the details of her second match for fear she’d lose again. 

Cullen was directly beside the ring now, watching as Katria inhaled a triumphant breath through her nose before letting it out with shoulders perched low. 

She gestured to the portcullis. “You’re free to go.” 

“But I lost,” Emely said, brow wrinkled. 

“It’s not fair to keep you prisoner, no matter the outcome of our fight,” she said. “Which was me winning, by the way.” 

Emely just regarded her with a wary look, lips pinched. 

“I’m serious,” Katria insisted. “I’ll give you supplies and you can be on your way. Unless…” 

“Of course there’s a catch,” Emely muttered. 

She lowered her hand. “Not a catch. I’d like you to stay and train with me, if you want. Outside the dungeon.” 

“You want me to join the Inquisition?” she asked incredulously. 

“Whatever you want to call it,” Katria said. “You’ll be closely monitored by my Spymaster, but you might like it.” 

“What makes you think I won’t try to hurt you?” she began. “You killed my friends.” 

Katria put her hands on her hips. “They weren’t your friends. They were members of a mercenary group that you led,” she said. “You may think I’m some spoiled noble, but I’ve been in my fair share of those kind of groups. It’s every person for themselves, especially in the Western Approach.”

Cullen had not considered that fact about mercenary groups—probably because he hadn’t been in one himself. He’d balked at Katria’s offer at first, but was not going to publicly defy her. 

Emely’s mouth scrunched up tighter, a deeper and less trusting frown on her face as the seconds ticked by. To Cullen’s surprise, she relented, throwing her arms to the side. 

“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll stay.” 

Katria cocked an eyebrow. “Try not to look so excited.” 

“We practice in the mornings,” she replied shortly. “The rest of the day is mine.” 

She raised her hands, palms facing front. “Sounds fair to me.” 

Emely gave her one last critical look before marching out of the ring, probably to nurse her wounded pride in solitude.

Katria rocked on her heels, far too pleased with herself, while Foster stepped through the debris of wooden fence destroyed in their duel. “You’ll have to teach us those moves, Inquisitor.” 

“Might take you a while,” she replied with a grin. 

“Let’s celebrate until then,” he said. 

Katria crossed her arms. “As long as that celebration is at the tavern.” 

Cullen stepped back in surprise when after that, Katria spun on her heel to face him. He had hoped to slip away unnoticed, but realized with his coat and armor that was unlikely. 

“You’re impressed,” she said, walking over and wrapping her fingers around the fence. “Go on, say you’re impressed.” 

He rested his hands on the pommel of his sword. “I’m ambivalent about the whole matter, Inquisitor.” 

“Such high praise,” she said, leaning backwards. 

“Is it?”

She shrugged. “Well you’re not expressly disapproving of me, so it’s an improvement.” 

“At least this is past us,” Cullen said with a sigh. 

“You really disliked this whole thing, didn’t you?” she asked. 

“Of course,” he replied. “You trained too hard, you sparred too hard. You were reckless.” 

Her mouth puckered, indignant. “I’m not incompetent.” 

“No, I wasn’t-,” He stopped and made an exasperated sound. “It was the recklessness getting you _hurt_ that bothered me.” 

“It’s part of the job description,” she said with a shake of her head. 

“Outside this castle, perhaps.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maker, even there—I promised that after Haven, you wouldn’t have to…” 

Katria walked her feet to the edge of the fence, so her hips were pressed against it. She patted the fur of his coat with both hands. “Oh, Cullen. You may dress like a knight in shining armor, but I don’t need rescuing.” 

There were still traces of sweat on her temples he spotted as she leaned close. Her jaw was red from where Emely had hit it, but it likely would not bruise. She had remarkably good bone structure, likely thanks to her noble heritage. Josephine would be glad all her fighting had not damaged it.

Tendrils of her hair had fallen on each temple from where she’d tied it—he resisted the urge to push them behind her ears. And then wondered why he had that urge in the first place. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he protested. 

Her arms dropped. “So what did you mean?’ 

“That—it is my job as the Commander of the Inquisition to keep you from getting hurt.” 

Katria looked down, like she often did when he made any mention of work. He could only see the top of her head as she spoke. 

“No wonder you look so tired all the time.” 

He smiled as she lifted her head. “It’s work worth doing.” 

Foster and her other students had made it half-way across the courtyard. 

“Hey! You coming or what?” 

Katria stepped back. “I should go.” 

“Do you plan to leave for the Western Approach soon?” he asked. “I can have my notes forwarded to you this evening.” 

“Yes, thank you,” she replied with a polite smile. 

She turned to walk away, and Cullen tried to follow, circling further down the ring.

“Katria, it was—you were quite remarkable. Against her.” 

She stopped and turned back slightly. “Stronger and smarter, like you said.” 

“You didn’t need me to tell you that,” he said. 

“Maybe not,” she admitted. “But it helped. So thank you.” 

Apparently he was still uncomfortable with sincere, direct conversation with her because he flushed red like a school girl and looked down. Which was even more embarrassing because Katria had never blushed once, probably ever in her life. She had little shame and a true knack for conversation, unlike him. 

“You’re—uh, welcome. Inquisitor. Katria.” 

She raised a nonchalant hand to him as she departed, with that small smile on her face—a perpetual expression for her, and Cullen could not decide if it meant she was always in a good mood, or just always scheming. 

Based on her uncanny foresight in combat, he figured she was always scheming. Certainly not always in a good mood, at least. He’d learned enough about her to see the toll being Inquisitor took on her. The effect his constant reference to work had—he wondered whether it meant she expected more of him, or had just grown weary of her responsibilities generally. Either way, he found himself not wanting to talk about work so much with her either.


	21. Chapter 21

The only thing comforting about the Western Approach was that it never changed—there were no surprises because there were always angry reptiles, tons of sand, and insufferable heat. Added to that mix were deranged Venatori and the occasional bandit. Katria never had any hope at all that there was anything good in this place. 

Her suspicions were confirmed when they joined up with Stroud, who had followed a group of Wardens to a small alcove in the middle of the desert. There, in a true fit of insanity, they sacrificed a Warden warrior so a mage could be bound to a demon— _always_ a good idea to tinker with blood magic to solve problems. 

Katria and the others confronted the Wardens and the Tevinter man who led them. Rather than a warm welcome from Erimond, they had to fight off the possessed Warden mages and their demon friends.   
The battle was not hard-fought, especially with Hawke, Stroud, and Katria’s companions behind her, and Erimond scampered off as soon as he realized that. With live enemies gone—only bodies and scattered ashes of demons remained—Hawke marched over to her. 

She’d been knocked to the ground by a shade demon, and he extended a hand to her that she accepted. She was an unusually tall woman in heavy armor, but he hoisted her up like she was a featherweight. 

“Are you alright, Katria?” he asked. 

She looked at her arm—the shade’s claw had cut her along the bicep, but not deeply. “Yeah, thanks.” 

Dorian walked over to them, soothing down the side of his robe. “That went swimmingly, didn’t it?” 

“Hawke was right,” Stroud said, off to the side and looking increasingly distressed. “Through that ritual, the mages are slaves to Corypheus.” 

“What about the warriors?” Katria asked. 

“It can’t be _real_ blood magic until someone gets sacrificed,” Hawke replied acridly. 

She sighed. “As if the fact that we’re in a desert weren’t bad enough.” 

Stroud stepped closer. “I believe I know where the Wardens are, Your Worship,” he said, hand pointing past the alcove to the tall dunes blowing in the wind behind them. “Erimond fled in that direction.” 

“All I see is sand, Stroud,” she remarked. 

“There’s an abandoned Warden fortress a few miles from here. Adamant,” he explained. 

She lifted her chin hopefully. “Surrounded by a tropical oasis, perhaps?” 

Stroud said nothing, also never one for her quips, but the crinkle in his heavy brow answered her question. 

“Are you confident that all the Wardens of Orlais are there?” Katria asked. “That Erimond is binding the mages to demons?” 

“Erimond called this a test run,” Cassandra interjected. She had just finished sloughing the blood and demon gunk from her sword. “It’s only a matter of time before they perform the ritual on a wider-scale.” 

“So you’re saying not enough time for me to hop to the Dales for a mountain getaway?” 

Cassandra, too, glared at her with brows low. “No, Inquisitor.” She sheathed her sword. “We must contact Cullen. Our troops should be mobilized and sent here as soon as possible.” 

Katria made an exasperated sound. “Cass, that would—that would make it a _battle_.” She gestured sharply around them. “In the Western Approach.” 

“We can’t storm that fortress ourselves, not if Corypheus is there too,” she said. 

Katria closed her arms and paced backwards. “So you’re suggesting we stay here—in the desert—and wait for the others to arrive?” 

“We can meet them in Val Royeaux,” she said. 

Katria stopped and pivoted to her with a hand raised. “I’m sorry, is that supposed to be an improvement?” 

“I will draft a letter to your advisors with an update,” Cassandra replied, then pointed at her. “You write one with your orders, Inquisitor.” 

The Seeker walked away, intent on getting down to business, while Katria called after her. 

“How about I draft a notice of termination instead?” she said. “You know, because I quit!” 

Stroud crossed his arms once Katria had turned back to them, having elicited no response from Cassandra. “If this is truly our plan, I will scout ahead and confirm that Erimond is with the Wardens at Adamant.” 

“Thank you, Stroud,” she said. “Try not to get eaten by any varghests.”

Stroud saluted to her, even though she’d told him that was unnecessary about a thousand times, and then turned on his heel for the exit. Soon, he was just a speck among a sea of white sand. 

Hawke was watching their Warden friend, too, scowling. “How could the Wardens condone this? Blood magic.” 

Katria shrugged. “People do crazy things when they’re frightened.” 

“Well people are stupid, then,” he said. 

She turned to face him with arms crossed. “Is your plan to stay and fight these idiots?” 

“Of course,” he said, then grinned. “I can’t deny you my company while you’re stuck here.” 

“What makes you think I enjoy the desert at all, even with you here?” she asked, brow raised. “I doubt there’s anything that can make it better between the Venatori, the angry scaly predators, and the sand constantly in my pants and boots.”

He leaned closer. “Well I could take the place of the sand in your pants and you might actually like it here.” 

Katria made a _pfft_ sound and thumped him in the chest with the butt of her dagger, glaring. “Maker, you’re vulgar.” 

He spun his staff around until it rested along the back of his neck. “The truth can’t be vulgar, Your Worship.” 

Hawke walked past her out of the alcove, and she considered correcting him, telling him that was not the truth, but she wasn’t certain enough of that to say. 

Dorian, of course, was never one to miss such an exchange. He gestured vaguely in Hawke’s direction. 

“So can I assume by that conversation that you’ve been fucking for a month and that nuptials are pending?” 

Her eyes flicked over to him. “You can assume nothing and mind your own business.” 

“I’m sure Varric would love to hear-,” 

Katria faced him, arms down and fists clenched. “Oh, for Andraste’s sake, I am not sleeping with Hawke. He just said that to—be crude.” 

“Hence my comment about the pending nuptials,” he said. 

“Just because Hawke and I share similar qualities does not mean I like him or that I want to have sex with him,” she replied with a wave of her hand. 

Dorian smirked. “No, I think his big, muscular arms make you want to do the latter.” 

Maker did she not have time to be teased about her _non-existent_ romantic life. 

“I am leaving this conversation,” she said, passing him. “This job. This desert.” 

Dorian followed her. “Not the alcohol?” 

“Never the alcohol,” she replied, and then decided she was indeed in desperate need of a drink. A drink in solitude where no one could tease her, remind of her any pending battles, or worst of all, tell her more varghests needing fighting. 

===

The Inquisition was called to arms a week after Katria arrived in the Western Approach. Apparently, their clash with the Venatori had gone worse than imagined, and now blood magic, possession, _demons_ were words scrawled across their correspondence. It sickened Cullen, and he was more than happy to mobilize his men to stop the Wardens from following through on their truly foolish course of action. 

Cullen was confident in the skills of his army, but he could not know what they were up against until he had full schematics of Adamant fortress. Leliana had some information, but he was eager to meet up with the Inquisitor to lay out their plan. When formally he would have celebrated her departure from Skyhold, he now…noticed it, acutely. She took more time than anyone else to wrest personal conversation from him, but that was probably only as a tactic to shirk her duties as Inquisitor. Still, he found himself more often than not searching for her in the courtyard, or the sparring ring, despite knowing she’d left long ago. 

The Western Approach was about an inapposite of place as one could be from Skyhold—far north, over treacherous terrain. Cullen brought along everyone they could spare, while still keeping their base of operations well-protected. 

The Inquisitor and her team, except Stroud, had made their way down to Val Royeaux to re-supply. Katria’s letters expressed her disdain at that choice, but there was no reason for her to return to Skyhold, and Josephine had commissioned a brand new set of ceremonial armor for Katria that needed fitting before the battle. 

The Inquisition could not be seen marching into Orlais’ capital without causing a stir, so his men settled far north for a well-deserved rest while Cullen and the others rode into town to retrieve the Inquisitor. 

Val Royeaux was far too dignified of a city to have taverns, but there was an overabundance of fine wine and spirits, so Cullen was surprised when he did not find Katria huddled away drinking with Dorian and the others. 

Instead, her horse was spotted near the city center, just before a long row of market stalls and shops. The area was immaculate—gilded finishes on all the colorful plastered buildings, polished and symmetrical cobblestone paths, verdant ivy growing on brick that never seemed out of season.

He assumed Katria was not in one of these stores helping Josephine pick out furniture—no, she was in the bakery, facing an unsuspecting errand boy. Cullen spotted her through the window, wearing nothing that spoke of her stature. No Inquisition heraldry, no expensive clothing. Just long brown hair pushed off one shoulder, leather boots dusty from travel, and a blue tunic that was large enough to belong to him. 

He walked through the door as she spoke to the boy in front of her. She was standing over a display, finger against her chin, looking more serious than he’d ever seen her. 

“Yeah, let’s do some raspberry ones. Is that—sure, some of those too.” She looked up and lowered her hand from her chin. “I’m sorry, do you have a bigger box? A crate maybe?” 

The boy gave an earnest nod and hurried to the back to find what she was looking for. 

“Inquisitor,” he said. 

She turned, brow arched—probably annoyed that someone was outing her for being the leader of the infamous Inquisition. Her expression softened upon seeing him. She even smiled and—and it was quite nice. 

“Cullen, nice to see you,” she said, and then she reached up and touched his arm above his elbow, where he could just feel the pressure from her fingertips. She made contact so easily—a reassuring squeeze, a pat on the back. She was not a hugger, but she had a natural way of putting people at ease with those simple gestures. 

“How much coin do you have on you?” she asked, before he could get a word in. “I’m not sure I have enough for the amount of cake I need.” 

He furrowed his brow. “I’m certain the Inquisition has some sort of tab-,” 

“No, no, I don’t want Josie knowing about this,” she replied with a sharp gesture. “She budgets me, you know. And yet also wants silk curtains in my room.” 

Katria leaned back to peer behind him at the door. “She’s not here, is she?” 

“No, I rode ahead.” 

She straightened to look at him. “I can’t imagine it was because you were eager to see Val Royeaux.” 

“We have a battle to plan,” he said. “Urgently.” 

Katria faced the cake display and cleared her throat. “How are the men? Are they-,” 

“They’re ready, Inquisitor. Eager to exact revenge on Corypheus for what he did in Haven.” He stepped forward so he was beside her. “Are you?” 

“What? Ready?” she began, still looking down. “I was born ready. I-,” She tapped her palm lightly a few times on the display case and called to the back of the store. “I’m sorry, could you hurry up? I have a sudden, intense need for sugar. Or alcohol, which I’m assuming you don’t sell here.” 

Cullen shook his head. “You have nothing to be nervous about.” 

“I said I was ready, not nervous,” she replied. 

“This is combat at a massive scale,” he said. “It’s understandable to be weary.”

Her hand was still on the counter, but her elbow slumped in as she sighed. “It’s not that. I…” She shook her head. “I’m concerned, _perhaps,_ scared, that—we’ll fail. That we already failed and Corypheus has got his demon army.”

“The battle will be hard-fought, there’s no way around that,” Cullen said. “But I would not ask these men to risk their lives if I didn’t think you would succeed.” 

“You’ve…” She pushed her hair from her face. “-entirely too much faith in me.” 

The door in front of them opened before Cullen spoke, and the boy appeared, carrying a box more suited for a large rectangular cake than a bunch of tiny ones. 

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Katria said with an exhale. 

She opened the box and peered at the neatly stacked cakes—more than Cullen had ever seen in one place in his lifetime. Though he had not seen many Orlesian delicacies to be fair. 

“This will do nicely,” she said, closing the lid and sealing it. She took it into both arms and tilted her head towards Cullen. “He’ll take care of the bill.” 

He started. “What—Inquisitor, I don’t-,” 

“Don’t forget to tip!” she cut in merrily, before kicking the door open with one foot and sliding out. 

Cullen did not know how Katria planned to get on her horse and lug that box back to camp—especially without arousing their Ambassador’s suspicion. But that of course was not his main problem. What was really alarming was the pending battle for the future of Thedas that Katria could not seem to be bothered by. Not because she didn’t care, but because leading hundreds of men into a war where they could lose their lives was exactly the kind of responsibility that repelled her. That sent her drinking, or eating, or gardening, or whatever other self-destructive behavior she’d crafted to avoid her emotional insecurity. 

At the least, Cullen was confident of her skills as a fighter. And that’s what they needed now: a warrior to take on the masses that threatened their existence—everyone’s existence—and needed to be stopped.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chugging away on the next chapter, so should have it ready soon! (Or not because woof is it a doozy)

After re-supplying in Val Royeaux, the Inquisition continued its march to Adamant. The lush green of north Orlais soon faded. Temperatures rose, and rather than sloughing through grass and dirt, his men trekked through sand. Villages became sparse, farms even more so, and it seemed everywhere he looked there was some nesting animal waiting to lash out and attack. 

They were only one day from Adamant when they made camp beside one of the few remaining water sources in the Approach. An artificial lake created by an ambitious Orlesian and abandoned when living this far out became untenable. It was half its original size, and in a matter of years would be completely gone. 

Cullen had managed to get a hold of Adamant’s schematics, which greatly assisted him and Leliana as they planned their attack. Katria was eager to help, but always resistant to putting their men in too much danger. If she had it her way, she’d storm the castle alone to find Erimond.

It was a late evening for him in his tent, reviewing reports from forward scouts who documented the Wardens’ activity. They laid low for now, but it was only a matter of time before their insane ritual was complete. 

Outside his tent, all was quiet, except for the occasional crunch of sand under heavy boots, or the hiss of a torch as it was blown out. He had gone to find Rylen, but spotted Katria by the water—just the outline of her long legs in low light. Foster was beside her, both hands out. It looked like they were having an argument. 

Cullen could hear them better as he walked closer. 

“Katria, with all due respect, what you’re saying is insane,” Foster said. 

She put her hands on her hips. “That’s _very_ disrespectful, actually.” 

“I can’t sit idly by while my friends-,” 

“It’s your skill set, Foster,” she interjected. “You are not meant to fight on the front lines of a war.” 

He threw his arm out. “We have the same skill set. You’ll be on the front line.” 

“I have more experience, and no choice,” she said with a shake of her head. 

Foster set his jaw mulishly. “I’m going out there.” 

“I said no,” Katria replied sternly, but the boy had already began stalking off. She called after him. 

“Foster, did you hear me? You do not have my permission…” Her hands flopped to her side. “And he’s gone.” 

Cullen awkwardly cleared his throat—if she was having some disagreement with an Inquisition member, he should know about it. 

“Inquisitor.” 

Katria spun on her heel to him. “What—oh, hello,” she said. She rubbed the back of her head. “Some urgent business matter, I assume?”

Cullen put his hands behind his back, hiding the report he held. There was always business to discuss, but perhaps that was not the right moment for it. 

“Are—are you okay?” 

“Of course. Did you-,” She gestured vaguely in the direction Foster retreated. “He’s fine.” 

“What happened?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “He’s just being an insubordinate-- _prick_.” 

He shifted, armor making him sink low in the sand. “You don’t want Leliana’s men fighting at Adamant?”

“They’re spies. It’s just not in their-,” He saw her brow arch in the low light. Her eyes rose to his. “Come on, you agree. You talk about my inferiority against warriors all the time.” 

“I have never used the word _inferiority_ ,” he protested.

She frowned. “Not my point, Cullen.” 

“I don’t know if I agree with your point,” he admitted, looking down. 

An exasperated sound left her. “You cannot be serious.” 

He sighed. “Adamant is a strong, well-designed fortress. We need all the help we can get against the Wardens.” 

“You are fired,” she said with a huff, as she began to turn away. 

Cullen reached forward and grabbed her lower arm, probably too tightly. “Katria, please. I know how difficult it is to send people you care about into battle.” 

She broke from his grasp. “It’s not— _care_. It’s logic. They’re not ready. It will be like sending lamb to slaughter.” 

“Foster may not be as good as you, but he can hold his own,” he said. 

Katria clenched her jaw hard and stalked to the edge of the water. She watched it lap at her boots for a few seconds before speaking. “If something happens to them, it’s my fault.” 

He joined her. This far outside the light, he could hardly see her. Just the outline of her hair, and the way the moonlight caught it. 

“It’s the Wardens’ fault. Corypheus. You did not ask for this war.” 

“What if I’m not the right person to lead us?” she asked. “What if someone else could have avoided this bloodshed?” 

“This is no one else better at this,” he said firmly. 

She, as usual, was not impressed. “Now you’re just trying to coddle me,” she muttered. 

“The other option is to tell you to toughen up,” he said. “War is war, and if you feel like you haven’t done good enough, stop whining about it and do better.” 

She crossed her arms, shoulders bunched near her ears. “You had that locked and loaded, didn’t you?” 

“It’s not how I feel,” he insisted. “But if you need to hear it-,” 

“I don’t need to hear it,” she snapped. “I told you I was fine.” 

Cullen hated the clear irritation in her voice. “I’m sorry.” 

She frowned, not at him, but at the vast expanse of darkness in front of them. “It doesn’t make a difference—being hard on me or nice. None of it matters.” 

“Katria-,” 

She tensed up, an exhale leaving her nose. He saw the white of her teeth for a moment, like she was trying to speak while clenching her jaw. 

Nothing came of it, and with lowered arms, she walked from the lake back to camp. 

Cullen was too shocked to follow her, and then too embarrassed. He rubbed his forehead, certain a worse headache would blossom soon. Katria could be so irritating sometimes, but so could he—the difference being that when he was difficult, she handled their conversations with aplomb, while he fumbled with even the most basic level of comfort. 

Perhaps that’s why he threw himself into his work so much harder. Because he knew he was good at that, no matter how poorly he handed everything else in his life. 

===

The next day, the Inquisition arrived at Adamant fortress. A massive complex abandoned to the sand, but still an intimidating reminder of their next task. They camped just out of reach of the castle, though as night fell its lights were visible from any distance. 

It took time to ready their troops for battle—the trebuchets had to be readied, tents erected, the fortress scouted again for weaknesses. From time to time, Cullen spotted flurries of activity along the walls of Adamant; hopefully not-possessed Wardens preparing for battle. 

Their plan was to march at dawn, with enough light for them to see, but not enough for the Wardens to gauge what exactly was coming for them. Cullen tamped down his nerves and focused on his work. Leading the Templars in Kirkwall was one thing, but this was war at a massive scale. They were not fighting for the fate of one city, but for the fate of Thedas. 

Late into the night, when Cullen had sent his other officers to bed to rest, he left his tent. There would be no sleep for him, even if he tried. There had not been for a while. 

As he weaved through rows of tents and torches, he spotted one other lantern lit inside. Not the Inquisitor’s personal tent, but their make-shift War Room, brimming with schematics and reports. She was standing directly in the ring of light cast on the billowing fabric behind her. He could not see her precisely, just her long legs and the boxy cut of her coat. 

He hesitated outside, wavering on his course of action. Their last conversation had ended poorly, and he did not want to enter battle with that on his conscious. For that to be his last words—it was unthinkable.

So Cullen pulled back the flap of the tent and stepped inside. Katria hardly noticed him, gaze down at the map beneath her, while her other hand reached for her glass. 

He watched her put it to her lips and tip it upward. “You should slow down,” he said. “All that will make you feel awful tomorrow.” 

She placed it beside her, not meeting his gaze. “I’d…feel worse if I didn’t drink it.” 

They were silent for a few moments—Cullen knew it was hardly the time to tell her what an unhealthy relationship she had with her vices. Still, it’s not as if it didn’t worry him. 

He cleared his throat. “Any…new updates?” 

“Yeah,” she said, running her finger along one end of their map. “Walls are weak along the western edge, while here there have been recent repairs.” 

Cullen walked over to stand beside her. “We’ll hit that gate with everything we’ve got. You need a way in.” 

“Let’s hope it’s not too late,” she remarked. 

He looked over at her, noticing the stoop in her posture, the dark circles under her eyes. “You should get some rest.” 

“How about I go to sleep when you do?” she said, mustering up a weak smile. 

“I—it’s not the same,” he insisted. 

Katria circled the table to grab a half-empty bottle. “I am…” She sighed as she pulled the top off. “Sorry for the way I acted a few days ago. I know you were only trying to help.” 

“It was a poor attempt,” Cullen said. “You had every right to be angry.” 

She put the bottle down before pouring anything. “I had no right,” she said, looking surprised. 

“I was clearly responsible for-,” 

Katria strode over to him, so he stopped. “What happened to the man who was once so eager to point out my every flaw and misstep?” she asked, then gestured up and down his frame. “Now you’re—you’re falling all over yourself to blame yourself for my bad behavior.” 

Cullen leaned back because she was far too close to him after asking a question like _that_. Inquiring about—about an improper attachment or bias he may have for her. He told himself firmly and hastily and guiltily that he didn’t, but…his thoughts did linger on her more than they should. 

“I—I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “The Inquisition needs-,” 

She grabbed the bottom fur of his coat to turn him. “I don’t want to talk about the Inquisition right now.” 

Cullen shifted awkwardly. “You are…still quite insufferable and very flawed, but-,” He looked away. “Uh, it seems that…that I’ve…” His final words were hardly a whisper. “Come to enjoy your company.” 

Katria released him, and for a few tense seconds, he feared what she’d say. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she finally asked. 

Cullen snuck a peak at her—not looking upset, or surprised. Because he’d admitted about the mildest thing he could, the furthest thing from the truth, which was simply that he valued her friendship. 

“It’s not…easy admitting those things to the emotional equivalent of a brick wall.” 

Katria laughed. “Maker-,” 

“I’m sorry-,” 

She raised a hand. “No, please, I’ll take it as a compliment for how desperately I try to keep this all-,” Her palms gestured down. “ _Away_.” 

“I understand,” he said. “I shouldn’t have goaded you.” 

Katria shook her head. “It needed to be discussed. And you’re better equipped than anyone to…allay my concerns about the battle.” 

“Please promise you’ll be safe tomorrow,” he replied earnestly, the words bursting out of him even though he promised himself he wouldn’t fret. “Were anything to happen to you, I’d…” 

“If anyone will be fine, it’s me,” she said, then she grinned and leaned forward. “I am very talented, you see.” 

“This is hardly the time for jokes,” he muttered. 

Her grin widened. “Aren’t you getting tired of saying that?” 

“Do you get tired of doing it?” he asked back. 

“Not when it irritates you so much.” She picked her bottle back up and poured another glass. “Last one, I promise.” 

“I’m not judging you,” he said. 

Katria took a sip. “Oh please, like you wouldn’t love to give me a lecture.” 

Cullen put his hands behind his back. “I would only do so because I care—about your health. Your mental state.” 

Another longer sip, and the glass was half-empty. She pivoted to him with one palm rested on the table. “So why are you so evasive when I ask about _your_ health?” 

“I’m not evasive, there’s just-,” He shrugged. “No improvement.” 

She looked saddened by that and put her hand on his coat. “It doesn’t mean you have to suffer alone.” 

He flushed red and looked away, stammering. “I—I don’t think it’s fair that this conversation has suddenly become about _me_.” 

Katria snorted. “I am not the center of the universe, like some would like to believe.” 

“Center of attention, maybe,” he said. 

She smiled slightly at that, which made him glad. She paused for a moment before she replied. “Thank you, Cullen, for being so kind to me even when I’m awful.” 

“You’re not-,” 

He stopped and stiffened because she’d—sort of glided forward, chest first and other arm reaching forward. Closer to him than she’d ever been, confirming the ring of brown around the blue in her eyes, that the scent of lemon that sometimes lingered in his office was from her shampoo. 

She’d gone to hug him, of all things, but before he could react, she pulled back, brow furrowed. 

“Andraste’s—that is awful,” she said, looking at his armor. “So sharp and-,” She slipped her fingertips through the arms of his breastplate and shook it. “It’s like a metal fortress in there.” 

His blood was rushing to his face, all the way up to his ears, which only made him more self-conscious. That was not a reasonable response to simple friendly interactions. 

“I—I will…” He cleared his throat. “Next time I’ll exit the fortress alright?” 

Katria grinned and tapped his breastplate with her knuckle. “I look forward to it.” 

After hearing that, Cullen contemplated shedding it right there—it wasn’t that hard, just a few buckles and straps, except doing so would make him look like a raging lunatic, so he stood frozen and prayed the thoughts would leave him. 

She polished off her drink at the other side of the table, before placing it back behind her. “We both need some rest before this battle,” she said. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he replied. 

Katria only gave a pointed look at his evasion before pulling back the flap of the tent and disappearing into the darkness. Cullen let out a heavy breath when she was gone, tension whooshing out of him, which was absurd because the Inquisitor should not make him so nervous. Make him into such a sloppy jumble of words. 

What should have really worried him was sending someone he apparently cared quite significantly for into a battle he wasn’t sure they could win.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some violence/gore/death in the first half, and then NSFW content in the second half.

The gates of Adamant buckled in with a deafening _crack_ —after too much loss and bloodshed, before they even met face-to-face with the Wardens. Arrows rained down on them like a hailstorm, rocks, too, and Cullen could see closer now the demons slinking along the battlements. The stuff of nightmares.

Inside the fortress, when Cullen told the Inquisitor there was too much resistance on the walls, she was the first up the stone steps. She split her team, including Hawke, into two and sent them separate ways to deal with the demons. Cullen thought to tell her it was more important to find Clarel, but perhaps he too wanted her protecting his men, especially when the odds were against them. 

He followed her up to the east battlements, where they had concentrated the most men because the walls were the weakest. The Wardens were swarming in response, mages, demons, and the warriors who had their minds but still chose to attack. 

Katria was easy to spot among the chaos, which worried him. Josephine’s armor selection was practical, but also incredibly ceremonial. It was not her hunter’s coat, but a full breastplate hammered thin, and as if the new metal did not gleam enough, it was colored gold, including the chainmail that hung lower. Inquisition heraldry was stamped onto it, as well as her new daggers, and Josephine had neatly braided her hair—all to make her a faultless and powerful symbol of the Inquisition. Andraste reborn. He had obviously never met Andraste but he sincerely doubted the woman was as beautiful as her Herald. 

All Katria did was complain about the weight, but she seemed to be handling it well on the battlements. She ducked under warrior blades, expertly dodged the sharp claws of demons coming for her, and still managed the high jumps that gave her better coverage of her enemies. 

She was truly remarkable, which he already knew—never taking a moment to stop to survey her surroundings because she’d already planned her next moves. Thin lips draw taunt, gaze hardened; she never lost focus, but Cullen knew that was to keep her from considering the consequences of her actions, and the losses occurring all around her. 

Wardens continued to spill out of the inside of the fortress, but they must have cut their numbers because eventually only a few remained, the rest siphoned off to likely protect Clarel and Erimond.  
One last wave came for them, just as Inquisition reinforcements rounded the corner. Cullen, with Katria beside her, fell back to give orders. 

Foster and two of Leliana’s other agents were among them, panting and splattered with blood, but uninjured. 

“Mostly mages and demons left,” Cullen said. “Cut in close on their flanks—if the mages fall, then the demons are far less powerful.” 

“Or just let me do it,” Katria interjected. 

A few more mages had jogged up the stairs, demons in tow. “Not going to happen,” he replied, then spun on his heel to charge at the demons racing towards them. 

Katria disappeared in a puff of white, and Foster followed—he could see their faint glimmers move left and right through the smoke. He raised his shield high as a shade demon lunged for him, claws spread. His sword cut through it when he pulled away, and the demon screeched before collapsing into a pile of ash. 

The Warden mages had the advantage of distance—none of them could move in fast enough to stop them from casting, especially with their pet demons running the offensive. He watched a handful of his men take hits directly to the chest, or get slashed from behind by a demon. 

Still, Cullen pushed forward, crouching low under his shield to deflect the spells cast in his direction. Though they did not have many Templars among their ranks, those who were knew effective strategies for subduing mages. 

One thing he knew from being a Templar for so many years was that even up-close, mages were not always at a disadvantage. They still wielded heavy staffs that could hit the right place, with blades fashioned at the bottom. And while most mages were not trained to maintain combat in close quarters, some were. He'd gone outside Kirkwall to track plenty of mages, to find them as fierce up-front warriors unafraid to face armor and shield for their freedom. Though the Warden mages lacked free will, they did not lack ferociousness. 

When Cullen lowered his shield, he spotted one final mage, along with a handful of demons. Katria was already close, but her path was cut short by a rage demon. She ducked low and skirted to its flank before its bulky body could move, burying her blades into its back. 

While Katria took care of that demon, the others surrounded the mage, including Foster. He came in fast, swords staggered and crouched low. He was prepared to block the first blow once the mage spun to him, but not the second. No, the mage, tall and powerful like Hawke, swung high before his staff blade sliced deep, right across Foster's neck. 

An arrow impaled the mage through the chest a second later, forcing him forward into a tangle of robes, but it was too late. 

“ _Foster!_ ”

Katria made a strangled sound after her shout, before darting to the boy as he lay prostrate on the stone flag. She collapsed on her knees and turned him over. 

Cullen did not go to her—he knew what he would see—and gave orders for the remaining soldiers to head to the west battlements where they were still struggling to gain a foothold. Katria’s team remained, beleaguered but intact.

Katria had pulled Foster up onto her knees, his body limp. Her hand patted his cheek while the other hand clamped tight to his wound. Her navy gloves were saturated with red--he'd lost too much blood even before she could reach him. She was speaking frantically to him. 

“Foster—Foster, wake up. Come on, _please_.” Her voice broke. “I know…I…” 

Cullen felt stones shaking under his feet and spun around. He cursed under his breath at the pride demon lumbering around the corner, smashing scaffolding in its wake. Electricity jumped between its horns as it stopped and let out a low, sinister laugh. Maker, of all demons were they the most ghastly. And the hardest to beat. 

“Inquisitor!” Cullen shouted at her back, while she stayed crouching. His vision was partially blurred as Dorian cast a protective shield over them. “Inquisitor!” 

Maker, he could not have her paralyzed like this. It was a rookie reaction—an understandable one, of course. Men freezing, or fleeing, upon seeing up close the destruction and death in battle. No longer discussion of war but war itself, and all its consequences. 

Cassandra was able to draw the demon away slightly, but it continued its forward trek, while Katria remained down. Hoping the Seeker and Blackwall could occupy it for a moment, he rushed over to her, dropping his sword and shield.

He knelt to the side of her, as low as his armor would allow. Tears had drawn tracks down her cheeks, collecting the ash and dust that coated most of her face. She was not sobbing, just paralyzed, mouth wrenched closed, not breathing. Unable to comprehend what she did not want to. 

“Katria,” he said, hardly audible over the thundering roar of the demon. One of its crackling balls of electricity sailed over their heads and slammed into the wall near them. The desperation in his tone precipitously increased.

“Katria, please!” 

Still, she remained frozen, so Cullen cupped her face in his hands pulled their gazes together. He leaned closer to speak.

“Katria, it’s—it’s-,” _Maker_ , of all the times not to know what to say. “We need you, _right now_. I need you. Please.”

She blinked once, tears clumping her long lashes together. He dragged one thumb across her cheek. 

“Katria…” 

He heard a low growl near them; his neck snapped up just in time to see another bolt of electricity. One that would not miss them this time. He lurched forward for his shield and flipped it up in the nick of time.

The bolt slammed into the curved metal and sizzled. He had braced the length of his arm to absorb the blow as he held Katria to his chest, and pain shot through his shoulder. 

When he leaned back and lowered his shield, Katria was already gone. Somehow slipped from his grasp, and all he saw again was her back as she unsheathed two daggers and sprinted towards the demon, like predator stalking prey. She gave a low, guttural cry before leaping into the air, and Cullen’s heart clenched because he did not want her anger to make her _reckless_. 

But at least they had her back, which meant everything because the battle would not be won, the Inquisition could not prevail, without its Inquisitor. 

===

After the battle—after falling from the Fade back onto solid ground where Inquisition members had been slaughtered—Katria returned to her tent. She shed her armor and tended to her wounds before sinking into her wash basin filled with cold water. Anything to get the blood from her hair and fingernails. 

She felt numb, her throat swollen shut, or perhaps she was merely without the will to speak. It was chaos after she accepted the Wardens into their ranks, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t leave Stroud behind in the Fade and then destroy the one thing he loved in one fell swoop. As if the strain of navigating that place weren't enough, she would be remembered as the first person to enter the Fade in 1,000 years and callously leave a man behind. It should have been her. That would have been right. No one else seemed to agree. 

Worse still was knowing that the men she trained who still fought in the real world—the ones she promised to protect—weren’t safe at all. Foster, and countless others, suffered awful, slow, agonizing deaths because—

Maker, she could not even think of the boy—and he was just a boy—or his pale face, those lifeless eyes, the blood from his wound saturating her gloves. Blood beading down her new golden armor; _he_ should have been wearing it. Not her. Protecting the person who _deserved_ to live, not the one lucky enough to be dumped out of the Fade and called a Herald. 

If not for Cullen, she might have stayed paralyzed in that spot and lost everything. She hadn’t lost something she cared about in a long time because she’d stopped caring about things. Yet on the battlements, when he begged her with such desperation with those handsome brown eyes--she could not lose him, too. To a pride demon, no less. 

No one, not even Cullen, came by her tent to witness her pathetic distress first hand. Too busy, or too frightened by her mental state. Maybe both. So she sat at the small table near her cot, long legs crammed under the top, with her arms limp in the middle. Here, she’d tried valiantly to plan their attack. An utter failure, clearly. Like she always was. Unable to protect the people she cared about—only herself. And it was starting to get really fucking lonely being the only one left. 

She’d told them she was not made for this Inquisitor business. Leading hundreds of men like she knew what she was doing, when she didn’t. Cullen should have dug his heels in, disliked her more, and instead he’d—he’d done the opposite of that. 

The numbness wore off as time passed, the sun crossing the top of her tent and sending shadows in all different directions. All along her spine was sore from her fall, her shoulder, her ankle from a bad landing. Not to mention the cut right across her left ribs, pulsing under her sloppy bandage work. 

She could do nothing but _think_ and _regret_ so eventually the tears came, unbidden. For Foster, for the other soldiers, for the terror she'd witnessed in the Fade. Tears in the corners of her eyes and then down her face where she furtively scrubbed them away even though she was alone. Because in that one stupid moment she did not want to be alone. She wanted to be told it was all going to be okay because from her perspective things seemed anything but. 

When the flap of her tent was pulled back, she started, wiping her eyes more hastily and trying to regulate her breath that had devolved into sniveling sobs. 

It was—Hawke. Of all people. It should have been Dorian, or Varric, or maybe even Cassandra. It should have been Cullen. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, surprised at how harsh and dull her voice sounded. 

He said nothing, merely showed her the bottle in his hand he was holding by the top. He had removed his armor, likely to be cleaned of blood and demon gunk like she’d done. 

Seeing the bottle, she gestured him closer, and only because of that. 

Hawke placed it on the table, and Katria pulled the cap off, ignoring her shaking hands. She poured one glass, slid it to him, and then began to drink from the bottle. 

“Whoa, hey-,” He interjected, and only a few gulps in, he pulled it away from her. 

“What?” she asked irritably after a small cough—the liquid burned as it trickled down her throat. The cheap stuff, but she didn’t care. 

“I came to talk to you, and that can’t happen if you pass out,” he said. 

Katria regarded him wearily. “Why would you want to talk to me?” 

He sat across from her. “What happened in the Fade-,” 

“What makes you think I want to rehash that?” she snapped. 

“I’m not asking you to re-live it,” he insisted. “I just…” 

She scowled. “What?” 

Hawke ran his hand through his hair. “I want an—explanation.” 

Katria’s stomach flipped, threatening to spit back the alcohol she’d just downed. She stood, and her rickety chair clattered back. “I can’t do this with you.” 

He followed her. “Stroud was one of the good Wardens. Maybe the only one left, and you-,” 

She spun to face him. “Is this how you thank me for saving your life?” 

“I want to understand why you did it,” he said. 

Katria pursed her lips tight. “I wanted to stay myself, but you idiots wouldn’t let me.” 

“You’re needed here in Thedas more than the two of us combined,” Hawke countered. 

She threw her hands down at that. “The Inquisition needs its symbol, and I could be that dead or alive.” 

“Don’t be absurd-,” 

“I’m not being absurd!” she exclaimed.

Hawke shook his head, matching her tone. “You got us out of the Fade. You won the-,” 

“I let countless die on my watch,” she snapped. “I left Stroud.” 

For the first time, Katria saw a look of distress on Hawke’s face. Mouth almost invisible from his facial hair, brow puckered and eyes down. 

“You should have left me.” 

Katria exhaled sharply and turned away. “Is that what you came here for?” she asked. “You want me to feel like a worse Inquisitor for making the wrong choice?” 

“Why was it wrong?” 

She lifted her hand to her hair, squeezing the wet roots tight. “It wasn’t the wrong person, it was the wrong reason, Hawke.” She sighed. “The Inquisitor is supposed to be this impartial arbiter of justice a-and I’m a fraud.” 

Hawke stepped closer. “What was the reason, then?” 

Katria swallowed roughly. She hated to admit the truth, the awful selfishness of it all, but he deserved to know. 

“For…for Varric,” she said eventually, then met his gaze. “You are so important to him, and I couldn’t bear the thought of returning here and telling him what I’d done.” 

“Are you serious?” he asked incredulously. 

“Yes,” she said. “Varric was loyal to me, understanding, well before anyone else. On day one. I couldn’t…” Her hand rose to her temple. “It wasn’t a decision for the Inquisition. It was a selfish one.” 

“You saved my life,” Hawke said. “And protected my friend.” 

Katria shook her head. “Yes, but what could Stroud have done for the Wardens?” 

He searched her eyes for a moment—unable to decipher her expression like she could not decipher his. Hawke was clearly conflicted like her. Glad to have his life, but unsure as to whether his contribution could ever mean more than Stroud’s. 

“You regret it?” he asked softly. 

She gave a heavy sigh. “Of course not.” 

“I didn’t realize you cared so much for Varric,” Hawke said. 

“Don’t tell him that,” she muttered. 

Hawke shifted, and she raised her eyes to his, narrowed and studying her closer. 

“You…” A short breath left him. “It means a lot that…” 

“Hawke-,” 

He gave up on his words—and she didn’t blame him—except that instead he leaned forward and captured her cheeks in his mage’s hands, yanking her to him until their lips were pressed together. Both dry, and clumsy, and she still felt numb so it wasn’t until a few moments later that she jerked back with a strangled sound. 

“ _Hawke._ ”

In the split second after, she swallowed a cold breath and realized when he’d kissed her she’d been thinking about that rather than the battle. Her swirling guilty thoughts. He’d expressed a rough, sloppy affection that was a hell of a lot better than the death and destruction she’d brought with her physical contact hours ago. He was warm and so strong and could hold the pieces of her together that were breaking off. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I-,” 

She pulled him forward by his tunic, clenching it in her fingers until they were pressed together, and she could put her arms around his neck. Kissing him again because it was nice to feel anything at all, and even if feeling good also made her guilty, she ignored it. 

Hawke was apparently not too apologetic for his earlier actions because he responded immediately, grasping her ass and pulling her tight to his chest. His dark hair was coarse underneath her fingernails, and on her cheek too from the way his facial hair grazed her chin while his tongue darted into her mouth. 

Katria staggered backwards—she wasn’t oriented well enough to know where her cot was, but at least she knew to avoid the basin she’d bathed it. The back of her thighs eventually bumped the table she’d been sitting by. Hawke pushed her up on it, almost the right height for her to feel the twitch in his trousers as his hand ran down her chest. 

She had been in this position—and others—plenty of times in her thirty-two years. She hadn’t made many friends on the road, but didn’t always spend her nights alone. Finding someone she needed something from or genuinely liked; it hardly mattered. Sex was far and away from any emotional attachment after all she’d had to do to survive. A coping mechanism, and then a mantra for her life. It felt good and barring any complications was a nice distraction. 

This time was no different, except Hawke may have had the most exceptional arms out of any man she’d been with. For a mage, no less. And even though she was the Inquisitor, he didn’t treat her with reverence. He understood what it meant to be called hero and feel the complete opposite. 

Katria hadn’t put her boots on, so once her breeches were pushed down to her ankles, it was merely a matter of kicking one half from her foot to give herself more room. Hawke had pulled her breast band to her waist under her tunic, but hadn’t taken that off—he was too distracted when she unlaced his pants and pulled them down. 

Sitting on the table did not align them perfectly, a problem Hawke easily solved by hoisting her up. She doubted he needed the help, but she wrapped her legs around his waist, bunching up his shirt above her crossed ankles. 

She shifted her hips, encouraging him to push into her, which he did not need to be told twice. His first thrust made her groan, while he cursed under his breath. He leaned forward so her ass was rested on the table again, and it wobbled every time he snapped his hips. 

And that was…it. Her face buried in his neck, muscles coiled tightly, her ankles tapping his backside each time he thrust into her, until he pinned her down and to him with his large hands, taking shorter, frantic breaths. It was them panting, and bodies smacking clumsily and inelegantly, while she thought of none of that and had eyes squeezed shut. 

Hawke finished and pulled her hair too hard as it lay tangled in his fingers, but she hardly noticed, quickly following him, trying her hardest to stay quiet. Still, a low moan left her and then a heavy breath. 

He loosened his grip, and she dropped her feet to the cold ground. Next was the worst part. Trying to navigate the murky waters of fucking someone with zero emotion and knowing what to say before they left. 

Hawke cleared his throat, chest still heaving slightly. “Varric is going to kill me.” 

“You can’t _tell_ him,” Katria said. “Maker, who am I kidding? Of course you will.” 

She stood and rather than pulling up her pants like Hawke, wiggled her leg out of the remainder. The ground was wet near her, and she peered around the table. The bottle Hawke had brought had fallen and snapped right in half. 

“You broke the bottle,” she said. 

Hawke pulled down his shirt. “It was the cheap stuff.” 

Katria turned to face him. “Glad you shell out for the women you fuck.” 

“Hey, I did not visit your tent for that,” he interjected, hands raised. “I mean, it was great. Fantastic. I love post-battle anything, but-,” 

“I get it,” she said. “I wasn’t accusing you.” 

Hawke looked at the front flap of her tent. “I should go before someone sees.” 

Katria was relieved he was not interested in engaging her in conversation further. Especially of the emotional type. “I agree,” she said. “Though I wouldn’t mind if you stopped by another time.” 

He grinned, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “I told you that you’d like me in your pants.” 

She shook her head. “Goodbye, Hawke.” 

“Inquisitor.” 

She hated that he used her title, but he meant it to annoy her. Or congratulate himself on his big catch. Either way he quickly slipped out, and Katria walked to her wash basin. She surrendered her shirt and lowered herself back inside. The water rose, some of it lapping the edge and joining the spilt whiskey by the table. 

Katria rubbed her face with her wet hands. She felt…the same. Which was awful. The feeling better was reserved for the few precious seconds she’d been clinging to Hawke as she finished. Then the reality—this desert, all the death—came crashing back down, harder than ever. Hawke’s temporary balm was good, yes, but she wanted these memories gone forever. 

Instead they would _stay_ forever. Teaching the same damn lesson she’d learned before that shouldn’t have needed repeating. Loving and caring—for Foster, her friends, for Cullen, for _anyone_ —only made it worse in the end. It was only when she was alone that she was invincible. And that’s what the Inquisition needed right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise another pairing, but rest assured that the first listing pairing will prevail in the end! Talk about a slow burn though, heh. ;)


	24. Chapter 24

Despite the fact that they did not speak after Adamant, Katria did what Cullen asked and went to the Emprise du Lion to root out the source of Samson’s lyrium supply. Finding a mine full of lyrium-addled people being used as stock for product was only a grim reminder of how high the stakes were. Corypheus was not just bad or misguided, he was evil—his aspirations were not only to destroy the world, but to torture and maim while doing it. 

Katria tried her best to roll back the progress their enemies had made. She provided what aid she could to the people of Sahrnia, liberated the mine, and established a base to ensure Inquisition oversight remained in the region. That did nothing to allay her guilt about Adamant. Her actions in this frozen wasteland did nothing to rectify her mistakes in the desert one. 

At least, travelling with her companions was not an explicit reminder of her loss. That would come when she finally arrived back in Skyhold after months of absence. When in the morning, her scouts training were smaller in number than ever before. And frightened too, after seeing their friend Foster perish. Especially because he was said to have the most promise. Promise that Katria squandered, as always. 

Skyhold would also bring more responsibilities—more decisions to make that would end in disaster. The specter of the chaos in Orlais loomed large over her, especially with Josephine’s polite, but constant reminders about their need to infiltrate the Winter Palace. 

The only person in Skyhold that could bring some semblance of normalcy to her life was conspicuously silent. Cullen had written when she’d first left for the Emprise, expressing mild disappointment at her decision to leave before seeing him. She wanted to point out that she hadn’t intentionally avoided him; he’d just never made an effort to stop by because of his work. 

There was hardly any correspondence after that, until a flurry of business-oriented letters arrived when she put a stop to Samson’s mining operations. That drew his focus away from any of her personal questions or the experiences she recounted.

To allay Cullen’s insatiable need for information about Samson, one of Katria’s first tasks upon returning home was to deliver the letters she’d found at the mine to him. She tucked the bundles of parchment under her arm and climbed the battlements from her room. Cullen’s door was closed, and she thought nothing of it. She pulled it open without knocking, but stopped upon hearing a scraping sound and a clatter.

Something—a box, maybe—whirled straight past her and slammed into the open door, shattering instantaneously into sharpened shards. Lyrium vials, less fragile, clattered to the stone flag at her feet. 

Katria’s neck snapped up, mimicking Cullen, whose eyes widened upon seeing her. He was mortified, but also pale. Sweating. Circles under his eyes darker than ever. 

“M-Maker, I didn’t hear you-,” 

She carefully stepped over the debris. “I’m going to assume the box deserved it.” 

He scowled. “I am not in the mood for jokes, Inquisitor.”

His harsh tone surprised her. Yes, he got irritated occasionally, but it usually took much more to provoke him. 

“What’s-,” 

She was interrupted when he collapsed against his desk with one hand, wincing and hunching inward. Katria didn’t move, though she wanted to, because she knew Cullen would hate to see her fret. She'd clearly caught him on a bad day. Maybe his worst. The frustrated cry that punctuated his flinging of the lyrium box was something she'd never heard from him before. 

“Can I help you?” she asked. 

He took a shallow breath that he let out through his nose. “No,” he ground out. 

“I wish you would have told me in your letters that things were getting worse,” she said with a sigh. 

Cullen was not looking at her. “It hardly matters. I’ve asked Cassandra to find a replacement for me.” 

Katria was surprised to hear that, but tried not to panic. “I don’t think she gets to make that call,” she replied, brow raised. 

“I cannot endure this,” he said, jaw clenched. “I have failed the Inquisition, and-,” 

She walked over to his desk and placed the letters upon it. “Failed?” she began incredulously. “Why would you say that?” 

“We fought a battle-,” 

“We _won_ a battle,” she interjected. “Any loss was my fault alone.” 

Cullen’s hand shot up, pointing to the window. “I lead that army, not you. And this withdrawal of mine only holds us back.” 

“Cullen, we can find a way past this,” she insisted. 

His frowned deepened, eyes narrowed. “Would you rather save face than admit that I’ve let you down?” 

“You haven’t,” she said. 

Cullen clenched his fist—it was shaking. “All of this has been for nothing. I have spent months becoming progressively more— _miserable_ , and I will have to give up soon anyway.” 

“Why do you have to give up?” she asked. 

He finally met her gaze. “Because it can’t be done,” he said. “You know that better than anyone.” 

Katria hissed through her clenched teeth—Maker, her past certainly made negotiating with Cullen more complicated. “Just because I haven’t seen it doesn’t mean its impossible.” 

Cullen gave a derisive snort. “I can only imagine how many times you’ve seen it. I’m no different than those men.” 

“You are different,” Katria insisted. “First off, you’re not stupid enough to be seduced by me.” 

He paused for a second after a small huff. “Of course not,” he said bitterly. 

“And you have support,” she continued. “From me. From anyone here at the Inquisition.” 

Cullen stepped back. “Just because I may prevail someday does not mean my job performance isn’t suffering. And the Inquisition as a result.” 

Katria shook her head. “Your performance isn’t suffering. You’d be doing us a favor working less.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked defensively. 

Her eyes darted away. “Nothing. You just push yourself too hard. Harder than any reasonable person.” 

Cullen turned for the window—a narrow strip of light fell across his cheek, casting a hallow shadow below. It was a shame such awful things were happening to such an unfairly handsome man. 

“I’ll make some colossal mistake,” he murmured. “I won’t be able to carry on.” 

Katria stood next to him and leaned against the wall with arms crossed. “What do you want then?” she asked gently. “To be replaced? To take more lyrium and keep your job?” 

She saw his jaw working under his more pronounced stubble. “I don’t know.” 

“You’re not taking lyrium again,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’ll replace you, if I must, if this was all too much to ask. But I won’t let you take it.” 

Cullen tightened his fist and spun to her. “I want to serve,” he said. “Too many lives depend on our success-,” 

“Your life depends on you not taking lyrium,” Katria said. “I won’t let you risk it.” 

“How could my well-being be more important than the Inquisition’s?” he demanded. “If we do not stop Corypheus, how I feel won’t even matter.” 

“Cullen, this Inquisition is not everything,” she replied. “Someday it will end, and I cannot in good conscience send you away still addicted to lyrium.” 

He gave her a ferocious look and stalked across the room to his bookshelf. “Maker, this is _just_ like you,” he snapped. “You can’t cope with anything, so you hardly acknowledge the Inquisition or our duties and instead-,” He threw his hand out. “Fret over meaningless things.” 

“ _Meaningless_?” she repeated angrily. “We are talking about your-,”

“It’s why you picked Hawke in the Fade, isn’t it?” he demanded. “Your care for Varric trumped the entire existence of the Wardens in Orlais.” 

Katria hated that she was apparently so transparent, and especially hated how much more selfish she looked knowing she slept with Hawke after saving him. As if she’d done it because she liked him. If Cullen knew that…

“Whether you like my motivations or not, I’m the Inquisitor,” she said firmly. 

“I don’t need your permission to do what’s right,” he growled. “I will _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry.” 

Katria pointed a finger at him, matching his tone. “If you take lyrium, and I will know, you’re fired.” 

His face drew inward, brows tense, furious at her suggestion. His care for the Inquisition along with his intense need for lyrium made it an easy choice. An easy to justify choice, at least. In his mind, his weary, hurting, and desperate mind, lyrium was the answer to his problems. With it, he could be his best self—his best Commander—and ensure the safety of Thedas. And that was certainly a sacrifice worth making, right? 

“You can’t do that!” he exclaimed. “That is an unacceptable imposition-,” 

She grabbed the fur of his coat as he turned. “Come on, I know you can do this.”

That did not help, and he jerked from her grasp. “Do you know how infuriating it is to hear that?” he snapped. “When you—none of you know what it’s like? You tell me to eat and sleep more when it doesn’t help.” He slammed his fist into the desk, but it did not startle her. “You tell me I can do it, when I’m telling you _I can’t_!”

Katria let him stew in silence, lips pursed tight. “I don’t believe you,” she finally said, trying to minimize the tremor in her voice. 

“So you’d punish me for my weakness?” he demanded. “Just like every other Templar you’ve met?” 

She looked down, afraid he might see that her eyes were glistening in the low light. She cleared her throat. 

“If you can’t care enough about yourself, then maybe you’ll care enough about your job. Maybe that’s enough to keep you…” 

Cullen scowled again. “You don’t get to tell me what’s enough,” he said. 

“I can make it easier to choose,” she said. 

“It’s not a choice,” he snapped. 

“It is right now,” she shot back. She then threw her hand up. “Though I clearly can’t…do anything to help. I’m sorry—I…” 

Katria retreated, and Cullen said nothing. Only stood watching through the window. When she reached the door, her feet sent his vials skidding across the floor. She considered stopping to pick them up, but decided there was no use. Just because Cullen could not see lyrium right now didn’t mean he couldn’t find it later. 

She did not want him to find it later. There was nothing worse she could imagine, but she couldn’t force him to endure, either. And there was no way in the Void her paltry words would convince him of anything. Her bumbling, her poor coping with her own emotional problems. Who was she to tell Cullen to abstain from his vices, when she could not? Drowning herself in the bottom of a bottle anytime a twinge of emotion hit her. 

He would be better off consulting Cassandra. Someone equipped to assuage his fears and anxiety. Maker, someone needed to do it because without Cullen, the Inquisition would be devastated. She would be devastated. And rather than making anything better, she feared she’d only made it worse. 

Because the conversation had gone poorly—because her frantic concern for Cullen beyond professional curtesy was alarming in itself—she continued along the battlements. She wanted to seek refuge in the tavern, but Josephine had chastised her many times about the _message_ her drinking sent when it was done in public well before noon. And she was right, that was no solution to her problems. 

Above the Chantry garden was a series of rooms renovated for visiting dignitaries. Hawke had claimed one for himself, near Varric and the tavern simultaneously. She stopped outside his door, contemplating.   
They had not had too much contact since Adamant—he’d made some salacious comment about keeping her warm in the Emprise, but hadn’t pressed the matter. He did a very nice job of leaving her alone rather than expressing any interest in her distress. 

She raised her fist to the wood and knocked. 

Hawke answered after a few moments, armor-less. Katria stepped inside immediately to avoid being seen. 

“I need to speak to you.” 

He shut the door behind her. “Is this a pants-on or pants-off conversation?” 

“Don’t be crude,” she said. 

Hawke smirked. “So pants-off?” 

Katria sat on his unmade bed—his space was mostly clean, but cluttered with correspondence, weapons, tunics all piled in the corner. The only small window in the room was drawn shut. 

“I certainly didn’t come here to chat about my emotions,” she said. 

He smiled wider, and the only thought she had after he kissed her was whether his door had some sort of latch. She was not normally so secretive with her romantic affairs, but told herself that as Inquisitor she needed to have more discretion. Although a small part of her admitted that her furtive maneuvers were to keep everyone—maybe just even some particular person—from uncovering the truth. The inherent nature of that guilt scared her, so she jettisoned it with the other fears she’d left behind on the floor with her clothes. 

===

Hawke was the first out of the bed, which was an impressive feat considering that in every other relationship Katria had been in, that person had been her. This time, she had less motivation, far more distress weighing her down because she hadn’t quite been able to distract herself like she had at Adamant. Hawke must have been losing his touch. 

Eventually, she sat up and pivoted her feet to the cold stone. Hawke was slipping into his tunic behind her, pulling it over his head and mussing his already askew hair. Katria leaned over rather than standing, burying her face in both hands. 

“All my good work make you dizzy?” Hawke remarked, standing closer. 

She dropped her hands and glared at him. “You and I have very different definitions of what _good_ is.” 

He raised a hand. “Hey, don’t lash out at me—I’m the one providing a service here.” 

“Sorry,” she said with a sigh. 

Hawke had gathered up her shirt and pants and handed them to her. “People will wonder where you’ve gone off to.” 

She accepted them and sat up. “That’s a very wordy way to tell me to go away.” 

He shrugged and walked over to his boots. “You want to stay for round two, be my guest. But I assume you want to retreat to your room and fret over whatever petty thing’s got you so wound up.” 

“It’s not petty,” Katria said, standing. “Cullen-,” She stopped and clenched her jaw. “Never mind.” 

Hawke snorted, still looking down at his shoes. “If it’s about him, it’s definitely petty.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked. 

He finally straightened. “I’m sorry, did you think he and I got along? An apostate in Kirkwall and Meredith’s second in command?” 

“I…” Katria paused—she had not considered their history in that way, colored by Cullen’s previous predilection for hating mages. “He’s different now.” 

“Oh, yes, it’s a big show,” he said. “As if his actions in Kirkwall can even be redeemed.” 

She pulled her shirt over her head, trying to distance herself from the intense feelings she had about his words. “It couldn’t have been that bad.” 

“You should really read Varric’s book,” he said, soothing back his hair. 

Katria was lacing up her breeches now. “I’m sure that’s embellished.” 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to care so much about him,” he replied, dark brow raised. 

She threw her hands down with an irritated noise. “I do not-,” 

Hawke was ignoring her, turning for the door after winking at her with an infuriating smile. “See you around, Inquisitor.” 

“I would appreciate being called _Katria_ when I’m half-,”

The door clicking shut cut her off, and she rolled her eyes. “Arse,” she muttered under her breath before walking over to her boots that were haphazardly stacked by the door. 

Cullen had enough to deal with at the moment, and he did not need to be judged for actions he could not change. If there were truly deeds that could not be redeemed, that meant she and Cullen were doomed to a life of misery—because if people couldn’t change, what was the point of trying? 

No, she had to believe that all actions could be reversed in some way. Damn Hawke’s opinion on the matter: he cared so little about anything, his mistakes hardly mattered. Or at least that’s what he insisted. The nightmare demon in the Fade certainly had a different perspective. 

Katria’s only concern was that…Cullen had never actually told her what he’d done before the Inquisition. Being a Templar was certainly something to condemn in her mind, but what if—what if he flourished under Meredith’s reign? What if he supported her plans, or made his own, and today still clung to problematic beliefs? Katria felt as if she hardly knew anything at all about his past, and that would not change with the tense state of their current relationship. If Varric’s book had answers for her, perhaps its where she should look.


	25. Chapter 25

Quite possibly the only benefit to being Inquisitor was the excessive level of work and focus required of Katria—the kind that kept her distracted, but miserable. There was so much to be done that if she wanted, she could bury herself in reports, requisitions, and noble machinations and never sleep or worry about her personal problems ever again. 

Unfortunately, that type of work was not enjoyable or sustainable—especially when it was the sort where she had to sit with Josephine and contemplate color schemes for the Great Hall. And then discuss their fashion choices for the Winter Palace, a place which they had yet to receive an invitation to. 

Josephine’s fretting about Orlais meant her next trip was to the Exalted Plains. Katria had not fared well quelling the violence between the mages and Templars in Ferelden, so she was not sure she’d make much progress with warring Orlesians. Still, their Ambassador believed that some visibility in Orlais would ensure they were extended an invitation to the Winter Palace. 

A taxing trip far away was a much more salient distraction than sitting around in Skyhold doing menial tasks, hoping her mind wouldn’t fall back onto the old habits of caring about her own personal problems, whether it be Hawke, or Cullen, or the fact that she had yet to find the courage to face the scouts who had survived at Adamant. 

Still, she could not pick up and depart right away, at least with her companions in tow, so Katria had to sit restlessly for at least a few more days. And while she sat restlessly, she thought of Cullen, and wondered if in a few hours she’d need to find a new leader for her army. Not even because he chose to take lyrium, but because he’d tired of her and her emotional inaptitude and decided to abandon the cause. 

After a long night managing supply lines and reviewing field reports, Katria decided that rather than simply worrying about Cullen she should do something to help him. It’s likely he did not want her help after how he’d treated her the day before, so she resolved to only provide anonymous assistance. 

Well before sunrise—which she hadn’t noticed because she’d hardly slept anyway—she trekked to the kitchens where cooks and errand boys were hard at work kneading dough and stirring massive, steaming pots for the hungry masses that would soon descend upon the Great Hall. 

Katria prepared a tray with tea and far too much food laden with sugar, and then with precarious balance walked across the courtyard to the battlements. Through the night, she’d peered through her sheer balcony curtains, but Cullen never emerged from his tower, nor did she see any lights. Katria hoped he was getting some desperately needed rest and that she could slip in and leave the tray unnoticed.

Katria pushed his door with her foot, then propped it open with her shoulder, concentrating hard to balance the tray in her palms. She froze when she saw Cullen behind his desk, who looked up when she appeared. 

“Oh—um, I…” She shifted awkwardly. “Sorry.” 

Cullen circled his desk—she noticed he was not wearing his armor. The first time she’d ever seen him out of it, in a simple tunic and breeches, and even though the clothes were drab, his warrior frame certainly did him some credit. 

“I thought you would be resting,” she explained, then lifted the tray slightly. “Was going to leave some food.” 

Cullen cleared his throat. “Thank you.” 

Katria shuffled into the room and placed the tray over the new parchment on his desk. She restrained herself from chastising him for working so soon. “Hope you’re feeling better,” she said. “I’ll leave you alone.” 

He stepped forward before she got far; she felt his hand on her arm. “Katria…” 

She turned to him, not breaking from his grasp. “You didn’t take it, right?” she began. “Promise that…” 

“I didn’t,” he said, fingers tightening around her wrist. 

Katria tried not to look too relieved, but her shoulders did drop. “Good—that’s…good.” 

“I’m very sorry,” he said. “About what happened. My behavior was-,” 

“Perfectly justifiable,” she finished. “I can only imagine how hard it is.”

“I shouldn’t have lashed out at you,” he said, guilt awash on his face, which only made her feel worse. “I need support right now. I can’t do this alone.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him. “And—I know it doesn’t always help, but I will contact everyone I can to try and allay your symptoms-,” 

Cullen let go of her and turned to his desk. “It’s—not the symptoms that have been bothering me lately. I mean, they always do, it’s just…”

“What is it?” she asked, brow furrowed. 

“The nightmares,” he admitted. “Which I know sounds silly.” 

“Not at all,” she said hastily, closer to him. She hated that she’d always told him to get some rest if the nightmares were that bad—she’d been sending him to be tortured by his subconscious in the name of good health. 

“That’s what bothered me yesterday,” he said. “Not to mention the nightmares mean I get little sleep.” 

“They’re worse?” she began. “After what happened at Adamant?” 

He shook his head. “That certainly didn’t help, but-,” His hand reached up to rub his brow. “There are other more potent memories that…” 

Katria pushed her hair behind her ear--her own memories of Adamant were joined by ones just as unsavory. Cullen likely experienced the same. 

“I don’t understand,” she said. 

Cullen let out a deep sigh, then raised his eyes to hers. She was very close to him, but not touching him. In her earnestness to make him feel better, she’d saddled up to his side and not moved.

“I have never told anyone this, but I was stationed at Ferelden’s Circle Tower during the Blight.” 

She had passed that Circle along the lake nine years ago after arriving in Ferelden. “The one taken over by abominations?” 

“Yes,” he admitted, then turned from her with his jaw clenched. “I was trapped inside.”

She swallowed roughly—her throat had tightened because she knew right away the suffering he spoke of. “Trapped with the demons?” 

“Yes,” he said. “Most of the other Templars—my friends—were slaughtered.” 

She stepped forward to put her hand on his arm; she could feel how tense he was under his tunic. 

“Cullen-,” 

“I was tortured,” he explained, practically spitting out the words, tension simmering just under the surface of his voice. “They tried to break my mind.”

“But they didn’t,” she whispered. 

He threw his hand out with an exasperated sound. “Yes, but how can you be the same person after that?” 

“You—you can’t,” Katria said. “Cullen, I’m so sorry.” 

He let out another deflated breath. “It’s nothing for you to apologize for,” he said. “Especially after…” His eyes flicked up to her, guilty now. “I was broken after what happened there. And angry. My anger blinded me, especially in Kirkwall.” 

“I understand,” she replied gently. “I _completely_ understand. You know that.” 

Cullen nodded. “I do. If there’s anyone who I…” He trailed off, clearing his throat and looking away. “Well. Now you know.” 

Katria ran her hand through her hair. “There must be something I can do.” 

“No, no,” he said hastily. “The pain…comes and goes. I should not have pushed myself so far that day.” 

She smiled slightly. “Would saying I told you so help at all?” 

“No,” he said immediately, though he was grinning too.

“Well just know I’m definitely thinking it,” she replied. 

He faced her completely. “I should thank you,” he said. “For being so kind to me when I was so awful.” 

Katria chuckled. “As a general rule, it’s best not to repeat me, especially involving emotional matters.” 

“It’s true,” he said. 

“And you wanted a hug,” she added archly. 

Cullen flushed bright red, which was especially impressive considering how sallow his skin was before that. He rubbed his neck. “No, I wouldn’t presume-,” 

She hugged him anyway because she thought he might smell nice and his chest would be firm and warm compared to the sharp metal edges of his armor. 

He froze at first, and she worried that she’d offended him—eventually, his grip softened, and she felt his hands on her back. His real hands, not the gloves, and the thread-bare tunics they both wore did little to separate them. She could feel his heart hammering against his ribcage, like hers probably was, but it was not their contact doing that—just the anxiety of telling his story. Or at least that’s what she told herself. 

They embraced long enough that she ran her fingertips along his neck up to his hair, which was soft, not course like Hawke’s, but slightly tacky from his hair gel. She confirmed that he did smell nice, and that he was warm and very well…toned from lugging all that awful armor around. 

His only thought was probably that she was too tall. Had weirdly long arms and frizzy hair that tickled his nose. Was hugging him for an inappropriately long time given the professional nature of their relationship. 

So Katria separated from him, noting how broad his shoulders were as her hands dropped—her eyes trailed down in that awkward after-hug separation where their faces were far too close for comfort. 

“See,” she said. “Benefits of getting out of that metal fortress of yours.” 

Cullen was still blushing. “Perhaps one of them.” 

She did not get a chance to respond because the door beside them opened, and Katria backtracked further to the desk and trained her gaze on it. Light from the dawn poured in, and she heard the clacking of swords from the courtyard. 

A messenger hurried in, one who immediately stopped with eyes wide upon seeing Cullen. The young woman flushed red and shuffled the rest of the way inside. 

“From Leliana,” she blurted out. “Urgent letter.” 

“Thank you,” Cullen said, unperturbed, and accepted the parchment she offered. 

She saluted to both of them and hurried out of the room. Cullen opened the letter while Katria watched him. When he looked up, his brow furrowed. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” he asked. 

Her grin widened. “Everyone likes you out of the armor,” she said. “That girl is clearly smitten with you.” 

Cullen scoffed and walked over to place the letter beside her. “Girl being the operative word there.” 

Katria picked up one of the sweet rolls she had brought for him. “Come now. She was early 20’s at the earliest.” 

“I’m 31,” he said. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“No, you’re right, you’re a sad old man who’s going to die alone.” 

Cullen crossed his arms. “Funny thing for a 32 year old to say.” 

Katria lowered her sweet roll, feigning offense. “Leliana told you my name day was last month, didn’t she?” 

“Yes, and I believe the words _old maid_ were used?”

She gave a sharp laugh. “Very nice,” she said. “Hug rescinded by the way.” 

“Too late,” he said. “And you brought me breakfast.” 

Katria raised a brow. “Someone has to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.” 

There was still a hint of a blush lingering on his cheeks that she could see as he looked down and pulled out the letters tucked under the tray. “I appreciate that,” he said. “And now I can take care of these letters from the mine. They will lead us straight to Samson.” 

She gave him a critical look. “I will allow you to return to work, as long as you promise to sleep at least a little at night.” 

“I will try,” he assured her. 

Katria smiled slightly. “Thank you. I’ll see you in the War Room.” 

“Of course, Inquisitor,” he said, and then waved his hand in farewell. 

She exited his office, bracing for the cold—especially since it had been so warm in Cullen’s office. Oddly warm. They had clearly lingered too close to one another. 

Even outside in the bitter cold, the warmth remained, and it deeply concerned her. Not just because she’d noted how handsome Cullen’s features were about eight hundred times in one conversation, but because she’d felt genuine strong emotional attachment to him. Enough to hug him, which was without a doubt the stupidest form of affection. It never led to sex, and wasn’t that enjoyable—just two humans squishing together for no purpose at all. 

Except for sentiment, which was supposed to be abhorrent to her. Especially sentiment of the romantic type, considering she was already…entangled with someone. Which was not sentimental at all, but still problematic. 

Katria exhaled sharply, intent on suffocating all those thoughts because they did not matter. Cullen had enough to deal with between the Inquisition and his own struggles. He didn’t need someone with her own problems making things worse for him—some old maid incompetent in emotional matters. Who coincidentally was also his boss. No, Hawke, or better yet no one, was clearly the more logical choice for her.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! So sorry for the delay in posting. Sadly, I can't guarantee faster updating at this point, but I will try. Just dealing with low energy, low motivation writing-crapiness. And real life on top of that as always! Thanks for your patience.

Usually, Katria welcomed trips out of Skyhold as her chance to escape the crushing weight of responsibility on her as Inquisitor. Even if she was trekking to the desert, or rainy bogs, at least she wasn’t facing the fact that her daily—hourly—choices often saved or doomed lives. Maybe even all of Thedas. 

The Exalted Plains were not a welcome escape, unfortunately. The legions of undead and the surviving Orlesians ran a tight race of who could annoy her more. And she expended all this effort in the name of impressing Celene to get an invitation to a party she didn’t want to attend. 

Despite her poor attitude, she and her team accomplished a lot in their month and a half away. The undead were expelled, fortresses reclaimed, dragons encountered and then left alone. She should have been eager to return to Skyhold after all that, but it only meant that preparations for the Winter Palace would begin in earnest. And if there was anything Katria was not equipped for, it was dealing with nobles. 

Still, she returned anyway, after Cassandra’s insistence, and Dorian’s threats to depart permanently from the Inquisition if he was not soon sleeping in his bed rather than in a tent. 

Katria hiked up to her room and unpacked her bags, dumping out field reports and books, adding them to the precarious pile on her desk. Josephine had left an unreasonable number of dossiers on Orlesian noble families for her—some “light reading,” she called it. Katria eventually sat down, tracking dirt across the rug in front of the hearth, and then rested her forehead on the small sliver of free space on her desk. 

The door to her room opened, and she shot up—fearful that Josie had already found her. The footsteps up the stairs were heavy, though, metal clacking, not at all like their Ambassador’s graceful stride. 

Cullen appeared, and she genuinely smiled. Which sucked because Hawke had accompanied her to the Plains where they’d slept together another three times because she wanted to and was an idiot. 

“Good to see you,” she said. “And by you, I mean a non-Orlesian.”

He grinned. “Yes, you described in your letters what friends you made on your trip.” 

Katria leaned back in her chair and gestured to the parchment in his hands. “And despite your knowledge of my awful experience, you’ve still come here right away to discuss business.” 

He clasped his arms behind his back, slightly red. “We can—chat if you wish.” 

“No need,” she said with a sigh. “My complaints seem to help little. We can talk about Samson.” 

“I don’t always want to discuss that,” he replied indignantly. 

Katria raised a brow. “Except this one time, right?” 

Cullen huffed. “Well—yes. But only because there are pressing developments.”

She just hummed in response while he tried to place his reports on her growing pile. Between Josephine’s extensive biographies, and her field log and books, the stack teetered sideways, before collapsing onto the floor before Katria could catch it. 

The papers hit the stone flag and scattered, except for a heavy thump because her book had fallen with it. Katria circled around to gather up what had fallen—Cullen was already kneeling to do the same. 

“Apologies, Inquisitor,” he said. “You have a lot of reading to catch up on I see.” 

She grunted. “Nothing that will—no!” 

Katria called out as Cullen went to return her book to her—not _her_ book, Varric’s book. Because he’d written it and the thing had been a massive success because who didn’t want to know what in the Void had happened in Kirkwall a few years ago? 

She had not wanted him to see she was reading it. Except that her protests only drew more attention to the situation—she saw him squint to read the binding before his face fell. 

“It’s not—I’m just…” Katria snatched it from him. “I’m not reading it. I hate reading, you know that.” 

Cullen rested his elbow on his knee. “So why is that page near the end bookmarked?” 

“Aspirational,” she explained hastily. “You know, where I’d like to get. If I ever bothered to open it.” 

He stood and let out a heavy sigh. “Maker’s breath.” 

Katria followed him. “It’s…fine. Really.” 

“What you must think of me,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair. 

“I don’t view you any differently.” 

Cullen pivoted sharply to her with a critical look. “Do not lie on my account.” 

Katria swallowed roughly—the truth was, Varric’s book shed light on him in a way she hadn’t imagined. Yes, she knew what motivated his hatred toward mages, but…she hadn’t expected to read about a version of Cullen that was so rigid and callous and uncompassionate. Worse was that even now, he recalled what happened to Maddox, for example, with such indifference. He was perfectly happy listing Meredith’s numerous wrong-doings, but exonerating himself because he stood up for her _in the end_. 

“Fine,” she said. “I didn’t like what I read.” 

“You expected to?” he began incredulously. “I told you that my hatred of mages blinded me.” 

Katria shifted awkwardly. “Except that you weren’t just— _blind_. You were actively helping not just imprison mages, but oppress them.” 

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said. 

“Well then you weren’t thinking hard enough.” 

Cullen’s shoulders dropped, and he let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Katria. I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“I’m not angry with you for your past actions,” she said. “I can’t be, I’m not even a mage.” 

His brow furrowed. “So tell me what’s upsetting you.” 

Katria did not want to do that—voice a current concern and anger him, or enter some loaded conversation about why in the Void he cared about her opinion or level of angry anyway. 

She looked at her feet. “I don’t like…” 

“What?” he demanded, frowning slightly. 

Her head lifted, and she pushed her hair from her face to see him better. “I don’t like how you talk about it now. You are content blaming Meredith, but you were there, too. And not some common foot soldier either.” 

“I stood against her in the end,” he said. 

“That didn’t help Maddox,” she replied, harsher than she intended. “Or Samson.” She stepped closer to him. “Has it ever occurred to you that if you had intervened to save them—if you had stood up for what was right—Corypheus might have never had a general for his army?” 

Cullen was clenching his jaw, tight. “He would have found someone else.” 

Katria let out a heavy breath, turning to the desk to deposit the book there. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

He was silent for a few moments before his frown deepened. “I have been trying my best, Katria. I have given everything to this Inquisition, and I don’t appreciate you going behind my back to dig around in my—my sordid past.” 

“Is it so bad that I wanted to know you?” she asked. 

“That is _not_ me,” he snapped immediately. 

“Maker, Cullen, _that_ is your problem,” she said, throwing her hand out. “You cannot atone for your past actions if you can’t even acknowledge what they were.” 

“I acknowledge them when it matters,” he ground out. 

Katria rounded to him, closer now. “That’s a bullshit excuse, and you know it,” she said. “You are obsessed with your job, you are always in your armor because _Commander Cullen_ is the only man you are currently okay with when you look in the mirror. You don’t want to be just Cullen because he’s a Templar at heart.” 

“I left the Order,” he replied. “I don’t take lyrium.” 

Katria shook her head. “Even without the armor and the lyrium, you’re still the eager little boy who joined the Order, who still _believes_ in it, who loves it.” She made a disgusted sound. “That’s why you’re so angry Samson destroyed it!” 

“I _left_!” he exclaimed, louder than either of them had been. 

Katria met his gaze, so upset, which she hated, not just because emotions like that made her uncomfortable, but because she cared enough about him that his pain mattered to her. 

“Take it from me, you can’t leave it all,” she said. “You may want nothing to do with that life, but…it just sounds like you want nothing to do with what you did wrong and who you hurt.” 

Cullen was taking heavy breaths, lips pursed white, before his head dropped. His fists were clenched by his sides. “Maybe I can’t handle it, Katria. Everything in that book and all the others things that…” 

She hesitantly stepped forward and put her hands on the fur of his coat, squashing the joke that immediately leapt up her throat due to her level of discomfort. His gaze rose to hers. 

“Cullen, if you believe like I do that everyone is capable of redeeming themselves, then you can handle it,” she said gently. “No matter what you did, there is always a way to make it better.”

“Do you believe that because you’ve seen it, or you have no choice?” he asked. 

Katria dropped her hands and gave a huff of a laugh. “It has to be true. I mean, look at me. I’ve got the fate of Thedas on my shoulders, and if I wasn’t capable of improvement, I’d be fucking up and sending all of us to the Void, I promise you.” 

“You are not half as bad as you pretend,” Cullen said. 

_Just wait_ , she thought, and then pushed her hair behind her ear. “Years of improvement, I can assure you.” 

He studied her for a moment, brow puckered slightly. “Thank you, Katria,” he said. “You, I mean…what you said…it helps.” He shifted awkwardly. “I only hope you don’t hate me after what you read.” 

“I could never,” she said simply. “Your coat maybe, but never you.” 

Cullen’s lip ticked up before he cleared his throat. “I will take into account what you said. I…do need to do a better job acknowledging my role in…” He gestured vaguely to her desk. 

“You’re right that’s its hard,” she admitted. “No one likes to see themselves in that light. Especially when—I know you were only trying to do what you thought was best.” 

“I was very wrong,” he said. “I was.” 

Katria rubbed the back of her neck. “Well the good news is you sounded awfully handsome in the book. Before your middle age and poor fashion choices set in.” 

He chuckled. “I hate to break it to you, but if we’d met in Kirkwall, I promise you would have not gotten along with my younger self.” 

“I hardly got along with your older self,” she said. 

“That was my fault-,”

“Oh, please.” 

Cullen stepped closer, crunching the parchment that had been neglected on the floor. “It was,” he insisted. “I was closed-off.” 

His hand reached out for the crook of her elbow. He squeezed it once, and then his arm went higher, hand hovering near her cheek, like he wanted to caress it, like he wanted to-

“Katria, you are…” 

She had already leaned back slightly when the door opened again. Cullen quickly dropped his hand and when he turned to see who had crested the steps, Katria let out the breath she’d been holding. 

Josephine beamed at them. “Inquisitor, wonderful to see you after your long absence. Do you have time to meet with me?” 

Katria glanced over at Cullen, who looked guilty now, and was blushing, his eyes on the floor. “Uh—yeah. Yes,” she said. “Let’s go.” 

She stepped past Cullen and headed for the stairs. As her thoughts raced, she cringed internally at the realization that her personal problems, and feelings for Cullen, were so intense and terrifying and severe that she would rather meet to discuss an _Orlesian party_ then spend one more second contemplating what Cullen could have said about her if they hadn’t been interrupted. 

===

Katria spent far too long with Josephine. The day before she arrived from the Exalted Plains, Celene had sent word ahead of the Inquisition’s invitation to the Winter Palace. The realness of it sent their Ambassador into a frenzy. Katria did not blame her because by far their reputation was the worst with the Orlesians. Katria had never executed a successful soiree; she was no expert in being subtle or demure, after all. 

After a few hours, Katria returned to her office, thankful that Cullen was no longer there to intimidate her with his good looks and his words and everything else. She had retreated so quickly with Josie she had not gotten the chance to clean up the papers scattered around her desk. Cullen had—neatly stacked them back up, not just in one pile. They were sorted by recipient and alphabetized. Varric’s _Tale of the Champion_ was on top. 

Katria took the book and stuffed it in the drawer before sitting down. Maker, she almost wished the book had done what she wanted—drove a wedge between her and Cullen because of his misdeeds. And how he acted in the face of them. Instead, he’d been mature and willing to—to think beyond the confines of the Order. To act as his own person past who he’d been brainwashed to be. It was infuriating. 

She began her final report for the Exalted Plains, watching the shadows dance across her floor as the sun set. Eventually, she had to light two candles and watch the wax drip down the ornate silver stems. Her door opened again, and she paused writing, quill inches from her parchment and dripping ink. 

It wasn’t Cullen. To her surprise, it was Hawke, jogging up the stairs with no pause, not like Cullen who would peer over the edge of the half-balcony to ensure he wasn’t intruding on her privacy. 

“What are you doing here?” Katria asked immediately. He had never ventured up to her room before. 

He cocked as eyebrow. “Would you like the long or the short version?” 

She did not know if that was supposed to be some sort of innuendo, but rolled her eyes anyway. Her eyes returned to her parchment, along with her quill. If she didn’t finish these reports, Leliana would not be happy. 

“Someone will have seen you come up here.” 

Hawke walked the rest of the way over and perched on the corner of her desk. “Careful, you might hurt my feelings.” 

“I would have to find them first.” 

He grinned and crossed his arms. “Are you telling me you can’t spare five minutes?” he asked, then recanted after thinking for a moment. “Fifteen, actually.” 

Katria’s eyes flicked up. “I know why you’re here.” 

“Oh good,” he said with an exhale. “Here I thought I’d have to spell it out for you.” 

“The Wardens from Adamant arrived today,” she said, standing. “Finally ready to join.” 

Hawke scratched the back of his head. “Hadn’t noticed.” 

Katria rounded the desk to him. “Of course not. Because their arrival wouldn’t make you think of-,” She gestured vaguely. “Stroud, who could have been leading the Wardens. Your guilt over being the one who lived.” 

He leaned forward. “Your guilt over having chosen me.” 

“You think I have guilt?” she asked. 

“Not after my performance in the Exalted Plains, no,” he said. “Sexual and fighting performance.” 

“One of those was adequate,” Katria muttered. 

Hawke chuckled. “I’m not going to ask which one.” 

“Good choice,” she replied. 

He raised both palms to her and stepped back. “Listen, if you want me to leave-,” 

Katria reached out for his arm without thinking, feeling the linen of his tunic under her fingertips. It was an impulse, an instinct—she hadn’t really thought about whether she wanted Hawke to stay. Just what it would feel like, not what it would mean to anyone else. 

“No, no,” she said hastily. “I…you should-,” She let him go. “I need a break.” 

From her field reports. From the emotions always swirling but especially right now after her conversation with Cullen. She knew it was a bad sign that she thought of him when she was supposed to be with Hawke, and in a romantic way too. One that was hard not to acknowledge by this point, but futile. She did not want some complex emotional relationship and Cullen did not want _her_. 

The easy solution was to stay with Hawke, and think about nothing. 

===


	27. Chapter 27

Katria always slept on her side, curled up towards her pillow—a habit formed from years of sleeping anywhere but in a bed and having to remain vigilant. She usually rose before dawn, but after a long trip to the Exalted Plains, she figured she deserved the chance to rise with the sun at least once. And between her late night writing and Hawke's...extra-curriculars, she was particularly tired. 

She was facing her door when her eyes fluttered open, and she flipped to her back to stretch. Her arms fell sideways to ninety degrees, one flinging off the bed, and the other hitting the opposite side of the sheets. 

Except there weren’t just sheets—her hand smacked against a man’s chest, and Katria shot straight up. She scrambled sideways out of the bed, pulling her blanket with her. 

“What the _shit_ -,” 

Hawke had woken up when she hit him, and pushed himself up by the palm of his hands. He blinked blearily and rubbed his eyes. 

“Hawke,” she hissed. “What are you still doing here?” 

He finally looked over at her while ruffling his hair. “I don’t know where here is,” he grumbled, lids still low and hooded. 

Katria threw her blanket back on the bed. “It’s not where you’re supposed to be,” she said. “I told you to leave after—after-,” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, lifting one hand. "I must have fallen asleep."

She stalked over to her neglected pile of clothes, finding a pair of breeches. “Someone will have seen you last night. They’ll realize you slept here like—like-,” She huffed. “Like we’re actually _together_. Is that what you want?” 

Hawke stood, shirtless. And pant-less. _Everything_ -less. “It was an accident.” 

Katria turned to her desk, so she wouldn’t have to look at his—parts. “Someone could come here any minute and see you all-," She gestured vaguely without looking. "- _naked_ in my bed.” 

He was already putting his clothes on. “Hope they like it as much as you do.” 

“You are not invited back,” she muttered. 

Hawke stopped pulling on his boots to cross his arms and grin. “Maker, you’re getting worked up about this…” 

“Come on, I’m the Inquisitor,” she said. “I can’t be seen—philandering.” 

“I’m not such a bad guy to be associated with, you know,” he remarked. 

Katria was at her desk now, but stopped what she was doing upon hearing that. Hawke didn’t—she hoped he wasn’t serious about a formal association with her. She thought they had both agreed conducting themselves privately was much preferable to some romantic entanglement. 

She looked up. “Garrett-,” 

He lifted his hand. “Whoa, hey, I wasn’t saying I wanted that.” 

“Good,” she said. “Because I’m never fucking moving to Kirkwall.” 

Hawke chuckled and walked over to her, straightening his tunic. “That hurts coming from a Marcher.” 

Katria gave him a pointed look. “Get out of my room before someone sees you.” 

“As you command, Inquisitor,” he said, grin widening. 

Hawke spun on his heel to walk away, and Katria sat at her desk with a sigh of relief. She hated that she had been so careless and not made sure Hawke had left. Two soldiers guarded her door at all times—which means they saw Hawke enter and never leave. 

What sort of rumors would that start? And more importantly, _who_ would those rumors reach? 

===

After the Inquisitor departed with Josephine, Cullen returned to his office. Departed was a generous term. Katria had fled, clearly uncomfortable with their physical contact or still appalled by what she’d read. 

Varric’s stupid book was too popular for him not to have faced its contents already. Varric was not dishonest in his portrayal, though he did not pull any punches either. It hurt that even the truth was enough to fill Cullen with shame. 

And fill Katria with disappointment, which he cared more about than he should. He had been despondent to see that book on her floor, and then she’d soothed him with her words, and the fact that she’d stood so close to him. 

Above all, his Templar training had taught him restraint, which was an ironic lesson to learn when he was trying so hard to untangle everything else from the Order in his life while retaining that self-control. Since a young age, he’d been taught to protect, stalwart and unwavering. Unemotional. Fraternizing with mages was harshly prohibited, but even fraternizing with anyone else was frowned upon. 

That meant that Cullen was no fool around good-looking women. Well, no more of a fool than he was in a regular social setting with someone he wasn’t attracted to. The minute he’d spotted Katria in Haven, standing by the fire with a liquor bottle talking to Varric, he’d vaguely made note of her long legs, and when she was closer, her blue eyes and prominent bone structure. 

But had that distracted him at all? Of course not. 

Until recently, at least. She’d left for the Exalted Plains, and her departure plagued him. He scrounged first for her letters in the massive pile of parchment he received each morning, if only to feel closer to her. He didn’t play chess in the garden because it just made him wish she was there smiling at him, which as of late was so distracting she’d won their last three games. 

Cullen thought—hoped—his thoughts of her would dwindle once she was physically present in Skyhold. That this idealized image he projected of her in his dreams would reveal itself as a lie—but it wasn’t. No, Katria didn’t have perfectly smooth hair or unblemished skin, but she was funny, and smart, and brave. And…had pretty fantastic breasts.

He did not know what to do with all these new emotions, not after they became so hard to contain. A recurring thought was that it was wholly unacceptable to be infatuated with his boss. Not just any boss either, the Inquisitor. The Herald of Andraste. A woman who, to her consternation, would be remembered by future generations as the savior of Thedas. And she was supposed to be interested in _him_? 

She had made it so much worse by being understanding about his past. Not easy on him, but compassionate. And what he appreciated more than being forgiven was being pushed to be a better man. 

Cullen had made a habit of working through the night in a desperate bid to convince himself that his job would make his childish infatuation fade. It never worked, and then he was just tired. 

He didn’t rest, though, and before anyone else was awake he visited the Undercroft. Harritt nor Dagna were around, but he sometimes peeked at Dagna’s work station to see how her progress was coming with testing her red lyrium samples. Anything to help them better understand what Samson had forced upon the Templars. 

He slipped back out to the Great Hall, forced to look at the Inquisitor’s door, and think of her again. By now, some servants were milling around the Great Hall, sweeping or setting out cutlery. Still, no one noticed him stop and tense, shoulders stooped under his armor. 

Katria was always awake very early. Surely she would be now. Perhaps he could—they could…

Before he thought more carefully about his choice, he continued his stride straight across the hall to her door. He opened it to the small inner-chamber where her guards were stationed. He was too embarrassed to greet them properly, so he hustled forward and reached for the doorknob. 

His hand grasped air because the door was being pulled from the other side. Hawke appeared, barreling straight towards him, not expecting a person on the threshold. 

The mage stopped abruptly. “What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“I could-,” Cullen frowned deeply. “I could ask you precisely that question.” 

Hawke raised one dark eyebrow. “Talking about the Wardens with your boss.” 

“I see,” he said, then stepped to one side. “Don’t let me keep you.” 

Hawke passed him. “Thanks, Knight-Captain.”

Cullen’s jaw clenched tight, but he did nothing to correct Hawke as he sauntered away like the arrogant pest that he was. He continued up the stairs after opening the door again. 

“Inquisitor?” 

As he crested the steps, he saw Katria’s neck snap around to him. “Cullen?” she began. “Maker, it’s, um…early.” 

He stopped. “I’m sorry to disturb you-,” 

“No, no,” she interjected hastily. “I’ve already been—I mean, it’s no trouble. I was awake.” She gestured sideways to the hearth. “Hawke had come—uh, arrived this morning to speak to me. Just now. This morning.” 

“I hope he didn’t bother you,” Cullen said as he finally walked into the room. 

“Not more than usual.” 

He grinned at that as she stood from her chair. She was fully clothed, but as usual the garments were wrinkled and oversized. 

“What can I help you with?” she asked. “Not an emergency, is it?” 

“No,” he said. “I was actually…” He shifted and cleared his throat. “I was just hoping to spend some time with you.” 

“Oh,” she said, visibly swallowing. “Well, you’re…more than welcome to join me for breakfast. Someone usually comes by with tea and such.” 

“Thank you,” he said, and he watched as she walked from her desk to the small cluster of chairs by her fireplace. She settled down—never primly, usually a tangle of legs and arms, with her head rested in her hand. 

Cullen turned to follow her—he noticed the bed as he crossed back by it from far away. He stopped for a moment when he realized how disheveled the sheets were. Kicked out from where they had been tucked in, hanging off on two sides. 

Because of his sleep schedule, or lack thereof, Cullen often visited Katria early. With urgent Inquisition business she always complained about. When he did, he’d noted, innocently, the way she slept. She usually disturbed very little of the bed, curled up on one side, unmoving. 

What he saw now was not normal unless—someone _else_ had been sleeping with her. Some obnoxious and arrogant mage who made a point of always flirting with the Inquisitor every chance he got. 

Cullen realized he was staring, silent, so he walked to the chair beside her, stopping with one hand along the back. “You said Hawke was here.” 

Her brow furrowed slightly—she was distracted pushing all her whisky classes to one side of the table. “Yeah. This morning.” 

“What did you talk about?” he asked. 

Katria finally looked up at him and shrugged. “He just—wanted to talk about Varric. Bianca. You know, with her being here recently.” 

Cullen froze, except for his gloved fingers clenching around the chair. Oh Maker, she was _lying_. Hawke was lying. They couldn’t get their story straight because—because they hadn’t been talking at all. They’d been sharing a bed, sleeping which was intimate enough, not to mention the things they probably did before that. His stomach flipped. 

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered, eyes darting away. 

She looked slightly alarmed. “Cullen?” 

“I’m sorry,” he said hastily, stepping back. “I’ve just remembered I’m needed in the barracks. I must go.” 

“What—are you-,” 

Cullen did not stay for her to finish her sentence—he did not want to stand in that room any moment longer. He retreated down the stairs and busted through the door without closing it behind him. He was able to contain himself in the Great Hall; his expression, at least, but not his speed. 

He jogged down the steps outside, and kept it up. Across the bridge, to the courtyard. Practically running, probably alarming those up early enough to see him, who would wonder if something was wrong. 

And something was wrong. Entirely, unequivocally unacceptable. Katria and _Hawke_. Him sauntering from her quarters like some obnoxious prick, probably so proud of himself because he’d captured the attention of such an important person.

Cullen could not stand it, but he wasn’t surprised by it. Hawke was so vain and arrogant and—and bold. He saw Katria, he liked her, and then _he did something about it_. She reciprocated because she liked his arms and the fact he never made her talk about her emotions. 

On the battlements, Cullen stopped. He was just outside his office, but lost momentum, collapsing against the parapet with a defeated breath. What a fool he’d been to think that Katria was anything like him. Quietly pining, willing to wait forever for him to…do anything at all. She hadn’t wanted him. 

And maybe, with time, he could learn to live with that. But what he couldn’t live with was knowing she’d thrown her lot with Hawke. Not just because of their history in Kirkwall, but because he knew Hawke would not treat her the way she deserved. Frankly, with his past deeds and his problems now, Cullen wasn’t sure he could treat her right either. Or that it would even be prudent to try. 

He finally retreated to his office: more time on the battlements and he might spot Hawke and want to—lecture or threaten him. Or just strangle him to get that smug grin off his face. 

Cullen had never technically hated Hawke in Kirkwall. The man was insufferable, but he helped when he could and stood up to Meredith when Cullen himself wasn’t bold enough. Now—and he felt childish and petty and asinine just thinking it—he _definitely_ hated him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for tension! I know this isn't some explosive realization or Cullen and Hawke dueling for Katria's affection, so I'm sorry if some are disappointed--a lifetime of reading cringey love-triangles has made me weary of that kind of stuff. But I do love making people grumpy and jealous so that will continue :P 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support last chapter--I have such wonderful readers and I feel very lucky!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've come out of the woodwork to accept the worst person ever award. Apologies for the delay in posting. I wish I had a valid excuse, but sadly I am just an under-confident potato.

Katria was in the Chantry gardens, leaning back in the chair by the chess set, one foot propped up and glass in hand. Restless. She did not like being restless, but in the past few days that feeling had dominated, even with all the other swirling emotions that were part and parcel of being Inquisitor. 

To her chagrin, her distress did not go unnoticed. As she sat, tapping her fingers against the glass in her hand, she spotted Dorian down the path from her. 

She prayed he would not stop, but of course he did, immediately settling down across from her, straight posture a sharp contrast to hers. 

“If you wished to lose at chess, you could have asked,” he remarked. “No need to sit with such a solemn expression.” 

She took a sip of her drink. “Nice to see you, too, Dorian,” she replied. “But I’m actually waiting for someone.” 

He cocked an eyebrow. “Your dear Commander Cullen?” 

“Not mine,” she said immediately. “But yes.” 

“He’s late?” Dorian asked. 

Katria awkwardly cleared her throat. “Appears so.” 

“Late?” Dorian repeated. “Is he dead? Being held against his will?” 

She scrubbed her brow. “I assume not.” 

“My dear, that man is never late,” Dorian said, resting his elbow on his knee. “In fact he’s so obnoxiously early that even if he were on time I’d be concerned.” 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Katria said, sounding more annoyed than she intended. “He’s not here.” 

His brow lifted slightly, lip ticked up—smug, as usual. “Oh Inquisitor you must tell me about this lover’s quarrel.” 

She glared at him. “There’s no quarrel I know of, and we are definitely not lovers.” 

“That’s funny, I could have sworn he was crazy about you.” 

Katria clenched her jaw tight and shot up—way too angrily and abruptly, but she did not like hearing that from Dorian. “I forgot I have a meeting.” 

She leapt onto the path and marched down it—unfortunately, Dorian immediately followed her, never one to leave her emotions in their hidden place, despite his desire for that. 

“That touched a nerve, I see.” 

She clenched her fist and faced him. “So you think it’s a good idea to still pester me about it?” 

“Anything for the pursuit of truth,” he said. 

“For gossip, you mean,” she muttered back. 

Dorian crossed his arms. “Either way, what happened?” 

Katria sighed. “I have no idea, if you must know.” 

“You didn’t fight?” he asked. 

“No,” Katria said. “The last time we spoke was a few mornings ago, in my office. It was a perfectly benign conversation.” 

And after the benign conversation, transformation. In the War Room that same day, Cullen could hardly meet her gaze. He didn’t laugh at her jokes or linger afterwards to speak with her. She’d seen him distracted by his work before but never to such an extreme. 

Worse, a feeling nagged at her that his bizarre behavior wasn’t just his because of his work. They played chess almost every week when Katria was in Skyhold, but the day before she had waited for him, only to receive a note that said he had to cancel. He’d _never_ cancelled on her.

They had rescheduled—via messenger—for today. She sat waiting and five, ten, _thirty_ minutes passed, she knew that something was wrong. Something with _her_. 

Dorian somehow sensed the same. He leaned back on his heels. “That wouldn’t have been the same morning the Champion was spotted slinking out of your room?”

Katria started, and then grabbed him by his elbow and dragged him off the path into a clump of elfroot. The Chantry mothers ambling by did not need to hear about her illicit affairs. 

“How in the Void would you know about that?” 

“Leliana keeps tabs, and she happens to linger just above my head in that alcove of hers most days,” Dorian explained. “Also I’m the closest thing you have to a friend, and you aren’t exactly discreet.” 

Katria exhaled sharply, then pinched her lips tight. “Alright, yes. I was with Hawke that evening. He slept in my room, but he was gone by the time Cullen arrived.” 

Dorian chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, Inquisitor.” 

“Do not start with me,” Katria growled. 

“He knows about you and Hawke. He’s jealous of you and Hawke.” 

“You-,” Katria grabbed him again and pulled him deeper into alcove running along the side of the Great Hall. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“If I’m wrong, what is he upset about?” Dorian asked. 

She clenched her jaw tight. “It’s not jealousy. Cullen has never-,” She threw her hand out. “Other than _once_ saying he enjoyed my company, he’s never given any indication that we—that he wanted…” 

He soothed a hand down his leather armor. “What about you?” 

Katria’s brow furrowed. “What—about me?” she began incredulously. “Like if I cared for…” She broke from his gaze and cleared her throat. “I never considered it.” 

Dorian gave a sharp laugh. “Maker, you’re an awful liar.” 

“It’s true,” she insisted. “I have enough to think about as Inquisitor. And with Hawke, I don’t have to think.” 

He raised his hands. “I’m not saying it’s the wrong choice, but your Commander is clearly not okay with-,” 

Katria pressed her fingers into her temple. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“You’re thinking about it,” he countered. 

She put her hands on her hips and sighed. “You know, I’m friends with you solely because I don’t have to put up with this crap.” 

“And because I’ve monumentally improved your fashion sense.” 

“Not worth it,” she muttered. 

Katria spun on her heel to the door, sights set on the tavern, which was already opening in her direction, forcing her to stagger back. 

Cullen appeared, reports tucked under his elbow, and she swallowed the surprised noise trying to escape from her throat. 

Dorian immediately appeared beside her, grinning gleefully. “Oh, Commander Cullen there you are.” 

She glared at him. “Isn’t there some book somewhere you want to—I don’t know, read? Away from here?” 

“Oh, no, I’d rather watch this.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow. “Watch-,” 

“Go away,” she growled. 

Dorian raised an eyebrow, still smiling at her misery, before flitting away. “Of course, my dear.” 

He slipped through the door behind Cullen, and Katria did consider following him—to the Great Hall, and then to the stairs, out of Skyhold where she’d never have to face his frigid treatment again. 

Cullen watched the mage disappear, clearly confused. “Were you talking about me?” he asked. 

“You were late,” she said, eyes down as she pushed her hair behind her ear. 

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “Something came up.” 

Katria shrugged. “Must have been big for you to be delayed an entire hour.” 

He shifted awkwardly. “Uh, I mean—no. Nothing for you to worry about.” 

“I see.” 

Cullen rubbed his brow, surveying her, as she tried to wrangle all the difficult emotions projected across her face. “Is there—something I’ve done to upset you?” 

“I was going to ask you that,” she said with a snort. “You’ve been-,” 

She stopped, realizing that standing at the threshold of a door to the garden, people milling all around, was not the right place to accuse him—maybe angrily—of judging her choices. To allay suspicions, she huffed and hurried down the path back to the chess set. 

Cullen followed her with a bewildered look and sat down opposite her. Katria did not move any of the pieces, just sat with her arms crossed, but at least things appeared as business as usual. 

He spoked first. “Inquisitor, what’s going on?” 

“You’re calling me Inquisitor, first of all,” Katria said. “When we’re supposed to be here in a friendly capacity.” 

Cullen frowned. “What has brought on this excessive criticism?” he asked. “I’m a little late, I accidentally call you-,” 

“You were not a little late, you have been purposefully avoiding me,” Katria protested. “Keeping me at arm’s length. Further than that actually, you refuse to even look at me.” 

“That’s completely untrue,” he said. “You’re over-reacting. I’m only doing my job.” 

“Is it your job to punish me for who I choose to sleep with?” she shot back. 

Cullen froze, then gave her an indignant look. “Your personal life is no business of mine.” 

“I know you-,” Katria threw her hand out and slumped back further. “I know that you know about Hawke. And I’m sorry-,” 

“You hardly owe me an apology,” he interjected. “Like I said, who you choose to spend your free time with is not my concern.” 

“I thought we were friends,” Katria said. 

“We are,” he said, then gestured to the board. “I’ve come here to play with you, haven’t I?” 

Katria sighed. She thought that she would like that Cullen wanted to pretend everything was fine—like she always did—but Maker, he was pretty bad at it with his actions, and though she spent some time with Hawke, it was really Cullen whose companionship she valued. She hated to lose it merely because he disapproved of Hawke. 

She sat up, lips pursed. “You don’t have to bother,” she said. Her palms found the armrests beside her and pushed up. 

“What—Inquisitor,” Cullen said hastily as she stood. “Don’t-,” 

Katria stopped, still frowning. “Listen, you want to be busy, that’s fine. If you want to be late, be my guest.” 

“I don’t understand why you’re angry,” Cullen insisted. 

She clenched her fist. “As it happens, for once in my life I am trying to talk to you about something and you’re stonewalling me.” 

He hissed through his clenched teeth and looked away. “Fine,” he snapped. “You want—the truth is _of course_ I care that you’ve thrown your lot with _Hawke_.” 

“Is that it?” Katria asked exasperatedly. “You just dislike Hawke so-,” 

“Dislike has nothing to do with it,” Cullen cut in. “He may have some redeeming qualities but how he treats others is not one of them.” 

She sighed. “I understand that you and Hawke don’t get along. Just like you and Samson don’t. And you and every other person who ever saw the man you are so desperately trying to hide from us.” 

“This has nothing to do with how I feel about him,” Cullen protested. “And everything to do with how I know he’s going to treat you.” 

“Treat me?” Katria began incredulously. “Hawke has been—perfectly fine.” 

His brow lifted. “Fine?” he said. “That’s what you want in a companion? Fine?” 

“Companion?” She threw her hands down. “Maker, that’s not what he is.” 

“Why not?” he demanded. “You’ve been seeing him for months, haven’t you?”

“That doesn’t mean-,” She stopped and felt a flush run up her face. She shook her head. “Yes, it’s a few months. Since, uh, Adamant, but-,” 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered. 

“I’m not in a relationship with him,” Katria said. “He bothered to show up when it mattered and…” 

His arm fell to his side. “Is that it?” he asked harshly. “He was physically present after Adamant and that was enough for you?” 

Katria did not like his judgmental tone. The fact that it was apparently beyond his comprehension that she could have sex with Hawke and not necessarily care deeply for him. Or have any sort of emotional connection to him. And yes, her…activities with Hawke certainly interfered with her ability to be with anyone else, but Cullen would never admit that was the truth truly bothering him. Not that she wanted to hear that anyway. 

He had a lot of nerve to judge her for spurning emotion. For failing to precisely chose a man who met certain characteristics and was thoroughly vetted. For—for failing to choose him. Yes, Hawke had flaws, and she knew there were many things he would chose over her, but at least he didn’t chose his work. 

Katria pushed her weigh to one knee so she could lean forward, scowling. “Yes, Cullen, it was enough,” she snapped. “I fucked Hawke because he showed up and you _didn’t_.” 

Cullen’s brow shot up—he took in the severity of her statement before she could, except that she realized quite quickly what it meant, what it implied, except she didn’t even know if she meant it, so she looked away. 

“Katria…” 

She retreated further. She did not know what Cullen was going to say—if anything, because he trailed off, utterly bewildered before she had even made it a few steps away. She did not want to give him time to consider his response, so she hurried down the path and out of the garden. 

===

The tavern seemed to be the only safe space in all of Skyhold for Katria. The War Room, her office, her bed, the garden—all places that had been infected by her emotional incompetence and utterly ruined. The tavern remained the last bastion for her to seek any solace. 

It was early enough that the tavern had few patrons; no patrons actually, except that Katria could hear Sera shuffling around on the floor above her. Cole was probably around too, but silent as he often was. 

Cabot had even left once his shipment of wine and casks of ale arrived at the portcullis, which meant Katria could rustle behind the bar looking for the expensive stuff with no interruptions. 

When she heard the door creak open, her head popped over the bar, afraid Cabot had returned. Instead, it was Hawke. She grimaced, cursing her luck, but if she didn’t want to run into him she probably should have stayed away from the alcohol. 

“Inquisitor,” Hawke said. “What are you doing back there?” 

Katria placed two bottles on the counter. “Trying to steal some alcohol. What do you want?” 

“Steal?” he began incredulously, sitting himself in the bar stool across from her. “I would think your title would permit you to take whatever you want.” 

“Inquisitor in name only,” she replied sourly. 

Hawke reached for the bottle closest to him, and she stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “Those are both for me.” 

He leaned back. “Tough morning, I guess.” 

Katria cleared her throat, opening the bottle with eyes down. “You know, Winter Palace, all that. Josephine wants me to wear a _dress_.” 

“The horror,” Hawke replied, then rested his chin on his hand. “Don’t worry too much though because I’m happy to tear it off you once the night is over.” 

She gave him a critical look. “What a waste of perfectly good fabric.” Her eyes flicked back down to the bottle as she procured a glass and poured to the rim. “Wouldn't think you’d want to be there anyway. I didn’t ask Josephine to have an outfit tailored for you.” 

Hawke chuckled. “Can’t say I’d be much of an asset milling around talking to nobles.” He flexed the arm closest to her. "Though I look great in fitted clothing." 

“Shame that hasn't gained us any Orlesian allies yet,” Katria agreed with a grin. 

“True but-,” He interjected, palms sweeping out. “I could still provide an invaluable service. In Orlais and tonight if you're not busy.” 

Her throat tightened—yes, she liked Hawke, being with him, but all she could think about was the look on Cullen’s face during their last conversation. Annoyance, surprise, disbelief…anguish. She had never meant to hurt him. 

“I don’t know,” she eventually said, a sigh punctuating her words. 

Hawke’s brow rose slightly, but he said nothing. Not one to intervene or probe when things sounded complicated. 

“Well,” he said, standing. “I would say I wait with baited breathe for your answer, but-,” He grabbed the other bottle from the counter. “I’ve got a few other things to do.” 

Katria immediately lurched forward for the bottle. “Hey! That’s-,”

“Bye, Inquisitor,” Hawke said, already too far away for her to reclaim her bottle. He employed his classic saunter to the door, while she rested both palms on the counter and frowned. 

Her hands clenched into fists before she drained her glass. Now the tavern too had become a place where she dug deeper into her emotional turmoil, complicating what should have been a simple proposition from Hawke. 

She said no to him because she was a damn fool. Hawke was supposed to be the person she sought out to forget her troubles, and now he was a reminder of the complicated position her emotions had put her in. A position she did not want to be in. 

Why embrace these feelings she had when they would only led to more problems? It was hard enough to be in a relationship as a normal person—which she hardly was—but as the Inquisitor? Who could she trust? What future could she expect with anyone, especially a subordinate?

Hawke had helped her escape from her problems after Adamant. Now, thanks to her pernicious and unnecessary emotions, he was the _cause_ of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh PS, after some savvy and awesome commenters suggested writing Cullen and Hawke in a shirtless battle for Katria's heart (:P), I posted a one-shot on [Tumblr](http://ces479.tumblr.com/post/172750781453/at-the-request-of-my-seriously-lovely-readers)!


	29. Chapter 29

Katria did not speak to Cullen after their spat in the garden, and he did not seek her out, but still he heard her often in his head, snapping at him about his failure. About how he was not good enough. 

You didn’t show up, Cullen. You _didn’t_. 

That isn’t why she had run off, though. She could have happily berated him for his oversight, but the other implication of her outburst was that she would have slept with _him_ if he’d been there. 

Cullen did not know how to feel about that. Did she say that because she truly liked him? Or because he was merely another man who was interchangeable with Hawke? 

That’s not what he wanted. No, his feelings towards Katria were not because he desired some meaningless fling. He genuinely cared for her, and that’s not what she was interested in. 

And how was it fair to have expected him to be there? After a battle of which he coordinated and lead? There were a million things that needed to be done—things that took him all that day, that night. He would have greatly preferred to do anything else, but that was not possible for him. 

Cullen liked Katria, but he also served the Inquisition, and the Inquisitor. That meant prioritizing the needs of their organization over…personal preference. Leading required sacrifice—Katria should understand that. 

And if such sacrifice required him to lose out on Katria completely? Then fine—he could contend with that reality, eventually. 

It was late when Cullen finally opened the door to his office after a long day of work—he knew because no light from the outside was streaming in through his narrow windows. He stepped onto the battlements, and to his absolute chagrin, Hawke was there. 

Cullen froze, trying to do the same with his expression, though he felt like his teeth might crack he was clenching his jaw so hard. 

His eyes instinctively found the stones under his feet. Looking at Hawke only reminded him of Katria with Hawke. The fact that they’d shared a bed. That she’d had a choice and made it. 

“Hawke,” he said immediately. “What are you doing here?” 

The mage smirked. “Just stopping by to see the best way to sneak bees into your pillow.” 

Cullen frowned. “I can see you’ve been talking to Sera.” 

“I’m actually meeting Varric,” he said. “But Sera _is_ planning to do that.” 

“Good to know,” Cullen muttered. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

He tried to slip past Hawke, not wanting to be in his presence a second longer, if he could help it. Unfortunately, Hawke followed him a few steps. 

“When is all this Winter Palace nonsense happening?” 

At least they could both agree that the business in Orlais was nonsense. Cullen reluctantly stopped and turned to face him. “We depart in a few days.” He paused. “The Inquisitor hasn’t told you?” 

Hawke shrugged. “We don’t do much talking.” 

Cullen cleared his throat—he was glad it was dark because a muscle in his cheek twitched. “Yes, well.” He shifted awkwardly. “Are you planning to accompany her? The Inquisitor?” 

“Not in those dumbass outfits,” he replied. 

Cullen snorted. “You’re one to talk.” 

“Might have good liquor there at least,” Hawke remarked. “And decent company, excepting you.” 

“The Inquisitor won’t have time to spend—loitering with you,” Cullen said curtly. 

One brow rose. “You assume I’d seek out her company?” 

“I—well-,” He knew he was flushing red, and hated it, but what he hated more was knowing how easily Hawke could taunt him. “You certainly direct enough unsavory comments in her direction.” 

Hawke chuckled. “I mean no harm.” 

“You’d better not,” Cullen snapped, much harsher than he intended to, and betraying entirely too much feeling—his investment in Katria’s happiness. 

Hawke’s brows rose further, but Cullen was pushing past him, not wanting to make any more obvious his intense dislike for the Champion. His more intense dislike now knowing what Katria was doing with him. 

As he jogged down the steps nearest him to the courtyard, he chastised himself for treating Hawke with more hostility than usual. He’d decided that Katria’s outburst only proved how incompatible they were, so he had no reason to be jealous. She was looking for—well, whatever Hawke gave. A meaningless, uncomplicated fling. 

And as much as even that tempted him, he knew that was not the kind of person he was. Diving headfirst into a physical relationship with no consideration of the emotional repercussions.  
His infatuation with Katria—or whatever it was now—had been so novel. He’d harbored romantic feelings for women before, and rarely acted on them because of his work, but with Katria it had been different. He thought that-

Well, it hardly matter what he thought. Cullen had never felt this way about a person before, but Katria clearly could not say the same. Or didn’t want to. Which meant that either way, as much as it irritated him, she and Hawke were the perfect match. 

===

Defeating the Wardens at Adamant did not mark the end of the war—it merely marked another battle in a long string of future conflicts. Regardless, Katria did not want to suffer anymore losses, so she trained her men hard, when she’d finally worked up the courage to face them again. That had taken some time. She hated that she’d emerged from the battle unscathed, while those she trained lost so much. She was meant to teach them to be the best and had failed. 

So she pushed harder. The skills she had now were borne of desperation—she was the best because she had to be, to survive. She had no desire to drag her students through the same gauntlet, but they needed to be better. So that they too could survive. 

Katria was watching two soldiers spar in the ring in the courtyard, a frown on her face. None of them were as fast as Foster, she thought, with a twinge—surge—of guilt. 

One of them, a woman named Eliza, had gotten tired from their long hours practicing. She was merely blocking, knees buckling slightly under the force of each blow she cast aside. Eventually, she was not fast enough, and her partner landed a blow on her shoulder, then across her chest. She staggered back and fell. 

Katria’s frown deepened, and she slipped into the ring. “That’s enough,” she said. 

Eliza’s partner helped her to her feet before Katria stopped in front of both of them. Eliza was red from exertion—and shame. 

“I think you know what you did wrong,” Katria remarked. 

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, Your Worship. I-,” 

“You clearly do not care enough for your own life,” Katria snapped. “Because when you let fatigue win, _you die_. When you get sloppy, _you die_.” Her hand shot out, voice sharper. “What do you think your chances of survival are when you can’t handle one opponent? How about when there’s twenty? Do you think they’ll all wait for you to catch your breath?” 

Her eyes were glassy, and she struggled to speak. “N-No, Your Worship.” 

Katria’s lips tightened, jaw clenched, looking more annoyed but not at the girl. Eliza’s quivering lip, and the askance gazes of her other students meant she was being the asshole. She huffed and turned away.

“You’re all dismissed for the day,” she announced. “Go.” 

They scurried off without further order, not want to feeling the brunt of her frustration any longer. Katria raised her hand to her temple and rubbed it. One person had remained at the ring—Emely, who often arrived to spar with her after she was done teaching. 

“So, you’re losing your shit,” she remarked. 

Katria let her hand flop to her side. “Already lost, thanks.” 

Emely shrugged. “A little tough love never hurt anyone.” 

She walked over to the fence, picking up her coat. “It doesn’t help,” Katria said. “They won’t learn if they’re too frightened of me.”

“So then why berate them?” Emely asked. 

“I didn’t meant to,” Katria replied, annoyed. “I just…” She sighed. “Don’t want to lose anymore, and when they make a mistake, it feels like my failure.” 

“No one is being forced to fight for you,” Emely said, crossing her arms. “Except me, I guess, which fuck you for that.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I said you’re welcome to leave whenever you want. You like it here.” 

“I like witnessing your downward spiral, you mean,” she replied. 

Katria threw her a glare—she hung around enough emotionally repressed people to know when someone was deflecting to avoid sentiment. 

“I hit rock bottom well before you got here.” 

Emely cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re boy trouble is somehow causing you to dig a hole past that?” 

She was slipping her arms into her coat and frowned. “My what?” 

Emely laughed heartily. “Feign confusion,” she said. “But I am in the courtyard a _lot_ , and your stalwart Commander doubles his appearances on the battlements when you’re here.” 

“Don’t be-,” 

“Triples them when you don’t have a shirt on.” 

Katria stuffed her fists into her deep pockets. “That does not mean I am having any boy—male trouble.” 

Emely snorted. “The man wouldn’t be scrambling to get a glimpse of your clavicle if he got to see your tits whenever he wanted.” She put her hands on her hips. “Which is probably why I never see the Champion around.” 

Her frowned deepened, brows low before she let out of a huff. “How did you—Maker, why is it that my personal life is the business of everyone _else_?” 

“Because you’re an absolute disaster, and it’s fun to watch?” Emely replied. 

“Not fun for me,” Katria deadpanned. 

“From what I’ve seen lately no one really cares if you’re having fun,” she said. 

The girl was right, that was for damn sure. Since she became Inquisitor, people cared about her duty. Whether she believed she was really the Herald. What she was going to do at the Winter Palace.  
Dealing with Orlesians, slogging through swamps, and inserting herself into civil wars was not her idea of fun. And no one seemed to care whether she was enjoying herself. 

Except Hawke. 

Katria sighed. “I should go,” she said. 

“Where?” Emely asked. 

She rubbed the back of her neck, though kept her gaze up. She was done wading through the complications Cullen caused and didn’t follow up on. If he wanted to be jealous, fine. If he didn’t approve of Hawke, that was too bad. He was not offering a feasible alternative, so he’d have to deal with it. 

“To have some fun,” Katria replied, and then she left the ring for the stairs. 

===

Katria reached the battlements quickly, muscles tense because there was guilt swimming around in her head somewhere. But that didn’t matter because the guilt had always been there, and she’d been especially proficient at ignoring it. 

The path to Hawke’s room was well-tread by her, and each time she arrived at the door, she ignored the irony of visiting a paramour one story above a Chantry garden.

The door wasn’t locked, so she pushed it in without knocking. Someone inside started when she did—but not Hawke. A young servant was pulling four edges of the sheets together in a sack. 

The room was no longer littered with Hawke’s clothes and various odds and ends. It was messy, yes, but not the same. 

Katria awkwardly cleared her throat as she let the door shut. “I’m—sorry for interrupting,” she began. “Are you—I mean, you’re not waiting for Hawke, right?” 

The girl stood straighter. “Oh no, Your Worship. The Champion departed this morning. Lady Montilyet asked me to prepare the room for a new guest.” 

“Departed?” Katria began incredulously, then shifted—she didn’t need anyone knowing Hawke had effectively abandoned her. 

“Right, yes. Of course.” She gave a small laugh. “I’d forgotten that he’d mentioned that.” 

Katria shuffled backwards. “I’ll let you get back to work.” 

The servant saluted to her while Katria scampered from the room, utterly embarrassed. Hawke had not mentioned any sort of departure to her. He’d clearly found it acceptable to just pack up and leave. 

She clenched her jaw tight—Varric had some explaining to do that was for damn sure. 

===

Katria clopped down to the tavern—usually pushing through that rickety wooden door caused a sense of relief to wash over her like a wave, but instead she spotted Varric and felt the muscles in her shoulders tense. 

She sat on the bar stool beside him, trying to look nonchalant. The dwarf was guzzling a tankard and finished it as she cleared her throat. 

Varric looked over at her. “Hey, Cat,” he said. “Everything okay?” 

“I’m looking for Hawke,” she replied. 

“He left,” Varric said simply. 

Cabot appeared and procured a glass for her without asking. “What do you mean he left?” she asked incredulously. 

Varric scratched his temple. “He, uh, departed? On a horse? Wanted to go to Weisshaupt.” 

“I meant _why_ did…” She sighed and let her gaze fall to the wood counter. 

His brow furrowed. “Did Hawke not…” He groaned and shook his head. “I insisted he tell you.” 

“He failed to take your advice,” Katria replied acridly. 

“As usual,” he muttered. 

“I’m not upset he’s gone,” she said. “I understand.” 

Varric lifted his hand. “I know. Just kind of shitty of him since you two were, er-,”

Katria tightened her grip on her glass. “How soon were you aware of-,” She flushed red. “All that?” 

“Probably within the hour after it—happened,” Varric replied. “At Adamant.” 

She pulled her brows together. “Maker, no wonder everyone knew.” 

Varric turned to face her. “For the record, I severely discouraged him from continuing.” 

“Why?” she asked. 

He shook his head. “Come on, Inquisitor, it’s Hawke,” he said. “He’s a charismatic guy with a good heart hidden somewhere, but-,” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “He slept with you because you’re the boss, and, you know-,” His hand gestured vaguely below her chin to her chest. “That whole situation.” 

Katria huffed. “Well I only slept with him because he had nice arms and a nice-,” 

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” 

She drained her drink after a heavy exhale. “Our arrangement was working. I don’t understand why he had to run off. I turned him down the last time we spoke, but…” 

Varric looked back down at his tankard and gave a half-shrug. “He read the room, Cat. Only a fool couldn’t see that Cullen has feelings for you.” 

“So?” she demanded. “I mean, I would think that would elate him.” 

He chuckled. “Except that you like him _back_ , and that creates complications that Hawke is not equipped to deal with.” His brow rose slightly. “So he ran from his problems, like you probably would have done had our trip to Orlais not been so near.” 

“Still considering it,” she muttered. She lifted her head and pushed her hair back. “Cullen didn’t confront Hawke, did he?” 

“Not really,” Varric replied. “But like I said, only an idiot couldn’t see how jealous he was.” 

“I…must be an idiot then,” she admitted, then dug her fingertips into her temples. “Cullen never…” 

Varric grinned. “Sorry, Cat, but emotional awareness is not your strong suit.” 

Katria snorted, letting her hand flop down to the bar with a thunk. “Damn it, Hawke,” she said, then her eyes flicked over to Varric. “Now that he’s gone, what am I supposed to do? It’s not like Cullen’s going to want anything to do with me.” 

Varric shrugged. “I’m sure many men would line up outside your door to replace Hawke,” he said, then he leaned forward. “But, you know, it might not kill you to see if a more emotional relationship satisfies you.” 

“Gross,” Katria said, and she slid both legs back off the stool. “That is—just disgusting.” 

Varric swiveled around to watch her leave. “I do have a bet going with Dorian, so it’s to my benefit if you wait.” 

Katria gave him a pointed look. “So in addition to prying into my private life, you’re now _betting_ on it?” 

“Not all of us have casual sex and pine after blonde Templars in our free time,” he replied. 

“As it happens, I’m doing neither of those things,” she said indignantly. 

He gestured between them. “We could bet on that, if you wanted.” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

Varric smirked. “Must be why we’re such good friends.” 

Katria shook her head to hide her small smile, and merely gave a wave of defeat with her hand as she walked away. 

Varric had not given her the answer she wanted. It was the answer that made sense, but she didn’t like it. Hawke had left because things had gotten complicated. And yet Katria remained, trapped in these complications that she’d brought on herself. Trapped with Cullen, who after learning about her relationship with Hawke, wanted nothing to do with her. 

Hawke leaving guaranteed nothing—Cullen still disapproved of her poor judgment, the way she shunned any real emotion. She was not the kind of person one would pursue a meaningful relationship with. 

Which meant she was trapped with no romantic relationship at all, with the only means of escape being a visit to the Winter Palace. And that was hardly an escape to speak of at all. 

===

_Hawke,_

__

__

_You must be a pretty sensitive guy to run off after one rejection._

__

__

_Let me know what you find when you arrive at Weisshaupt._

__

__

_Katria_

__

===

_Inquisitor,_

__

__

_It’s true. I just couldn’t handle the intensity of my emotion for you. I knew you could never love a mage like me._

__

_Hawke_

===

_Hawke,_

__

__

_You’re such an asshole._

__

_Katria_

===

_Katria,_

__

__

_That’s your fault if you didn’t realize that already._

__

__

_Varric says I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye, but he’s never given me good advice anyway. I need to find the other Wardens. I’d have done no good at the Winter Palace._

__

_Hawke_

===

_Hawke,_

__

__

_You should have said something, and you know it. I know I sacrificed a Warden in the Fade, but that does not mean you have to become one and take his place._

__

__

_Do you promise that’s the only reason you left?_

__

_Katria_

===

_Katria,_

__

__

_I don’t regret your choice. I’m trying to do what’s right—what Stroud would have wanted._

__

__

_And if you want the truth, I might have left Skyhold later if your Templar wasn’t boiling me from the inside out with his glare. His constant, angry glare. Which I could have tolerated if I was allowed to lord over him about sleeping with his boss, but you’ve obviously fallen into the fatal trap of liking him back. I thought we had agreed to forgo complications but you clearly can’t follow directions._

__

_Hawke_

===

_Thank you for being honest._

===

_Thank you for having sex with me._

===


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a long absence! I am profusely sorry for it. Lots of exciting (matrimony!) and not so exciting (the bar!) things have been happening lately. I cannot guarantee a quick update schedule since I am still studying (and praying I pass). Thank y'all for your patience!

The jacket was too tight. Far too tight. The Orlesian tailor had complained about her shape—how her waist didn’t taper in enough, particularly without a corset. Not to mention her height, and how much more fabric was needed to make the trousers long enough. 

Katria had volunteered to forego the festivities at the Winter Palace as a result of this difficulty, but no one could be persuaded to leave the Inquisitor behind. Even if it would be better for the Inquisition.

It wasn’t a dress, at least. A long fought battle between her and Josephine, with some support from Leliana and Cullen because they agreed she needed more mobility than a skirt afforded. 

Still, this velvet trimmed disaster did not leave much room for her to hide weapons. A few short daggers, but that was all. She would have to get some of her soldiers to smuggle her real weapons into the Palace—there was no way she wouldn’t need them with the direction her life had taken lately. 

There was a knock at her door. Her private room at the estate of Josephine’s family friend, who lived in Val Royeaux near the Winter Palace. They had crossed Ferelden to Orlais and had been preparing their final plans for the event for the past few days. It was nothing like Adamant, where they contemplated battle. No, this was just memorizing names, and titles, and proper etiquette. 

Katria did not have these skills like she could fight. Her noble lineage had not imbued her with any ability to handle the intricacies of court life and the nobility. That fact made the knock at her door more intimidating—the knock that meant _its time_. 

“Inquisitor?” 

Her brow arched in at the sound of Cullen’s voice. She would have expected Josephine to be the one to retrieve her and regale her with more inane details about the evening. 

“Uh, come in,” Katria said. 

He tentatively peered inside as the door opened. Once he was fully visible in his formal outfit, they mirrored one another, tugging at the ends of their tailored coats. 

She awkwardly cleared her throat—they had not spoken much, or at all, since Hawke’s departure. Things for the Winter Palace had fallen into place quickly after the Champion departed, meaning there was more business conversation than anything. 

“Have you come to fetch me?” she asked. 

Cullen nodded and stepped further into the room. He pulled some parchment from his pocket. “Josephine is readying the carriage, and I’ve got our final plans for our men at the Palace.” 

Katria accepted the paper he proffered and unfolded it. He’d marked on a schematic of the palace where soldiers would be stationed—the vestibule and side hallways, outside in the courtyard. Cullen had overdone it. 

While she read, Cullen shifted on his feet—she could tell he was looking at her, and then down. 

“You, er, look nice,” he remarked. 

“We look identical,” she replied absently.

He shook his head. “No, your hair and—face are…” 

“If only Josephine could change my face,” she muttered, as her eyes flicked up. 

“I didn’t-,” 

Katria lowered the parchment to her side. “You don’t need so many soldiers watching me,” she said. “I can handle myself.” 

“It’s standard protocol,” Cullen replied. 

“What do you expect?” she asked. “Someone to fan me to death?” 

“Josephine seems to think this is our most dangerous mission yet,” he said. 

The muscles along her back tensed at that, and she turned for the small table across from her bed. A gold tray was set out with intricate crystal decanters. She grabbed a glass. 

“I’ll need to hydrate if it’s that perilous.” 

He frowned. “The carriage is waiting for us.”

Katria poured to the rim of the glass. “I can be fast.” 

“Are you sure-,” 

She had raised it to her lips, intending to drink up, but interrupted him when she violently spat out the drink. 

Cullen immediately lurched towards her. “Inquisitor!” he blurted out. “Is it poison?” 

“No,” she replied, still disgusted. “It’s _tea_.” 

She placed the glass down with a heavy thunk. “Josephine must have asked our lovely hosts to switch it out.” 

Cullen crossed his arms. “She—we all are concerned you drink too much when you’re nervous.” 

“I’m not nervous,” she replied crossly. 

She headed for the bed where her knapsack had spilled across the sheets. She shifted through the clutter and found a flask, triumphantly wiggling it in front of Cullen. 

He rolled his eyes. “Drink it on the way.” 

Katria followed him while she unscrewed the flask. When she stopped dead at the threshold, he turned to look at her. Her mouth was snapped shut and screwed up into a frown. 

One corner of his lip flicked up. “It’s tea too, isn’t it?” 

She roughly swallowed, shaking her head, and threw the flask behind her. “Maker, I fucking hate this job.” 

They continued down the ornate hallway, boots clicking on immaculate floors. Cullen held open the outside door for her, pretending it wasn’t heavy, to soldiers shuffling around and preparing the caravan. 

Cullen pointed near the middle. “We’re here.” 

“Is there a reason we need to make such a grand entrance?” she muttered. 

He nodded in acknowledgement to a few men who saluted to them. “We want people to take the Inquisition seriously,” he said. “Even if you don’t.”

“Very cute,” she said, once they reached the carriage. “You’re fired.” 

Cullen swung open the door. “Does that mean I can change clothes?” 

“I wish,” she replied as she tried to climb inside. She stopped with hands bracketing the door when she spotted Josephine and Leliana there already. 

It was a small carriage for the four of them—perhaps on purpose—and Katria wiggled inside to the far end of the bench. Cullen, who paused too, sat beside her. His shoulders hunched in, trying to make himself as small as possible, yet she could still feel the length of his leg along hers. His hip. His arm. All corded with muscle, which she tried not to think about. 

As soon as they were settled, the carriage jolted forward and set off, careening along the cobblestone path out of the estate. Katria tried to brace herself, but she unintentionally fell further towards Cullen. 

“Sorry,” she muttered. 

Josephine had not moved, hands perfectly folded, and smiling demurely. “Have everything you need, Inquisitor?” 

She sighed. “Yes, except for any alcohol. At all. I’d take ale at this point.” 

Cullen just snorted, while Leliana shook her head. “We need you alert.” 

“For what?” Katria asked incredulously. “Gossip and dancing?” 

“You’re not particularly good at either, so sober is best,” Leliana replied with an arched brow. 

Katria chuckled. “No one has ever said that in reference to me.” 

“Inquisitor,” Josephine said. “The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. We must be prepared.” 

She crossed her arms. “You know, Josie, I’ve actually played Wicked Grace to the death, and this is way worse.” 

Cullen smiled slightly, though that was accompanied by a wince because they were squished so close together Katria’s elbow dug into his rib cage. 

Josephine hardly looked uncomfortable as the carriage jostled them along the road. “I understand this is hardly your idea of fun-,” 

“Understatement.” 

She sighed. “And yet we have no choice but to partake—to save Orlais.” 

“Hardly worth saving,” Cullen said under his breath. 

“I would remind you that we would not have such a well-equipped army without the help of the Orlesians, Commander.” 

Cullen shifted. “I can’t see why I must personally thank them for it.” 

“Your face is the only thing that will curry us any favor,” Katria replied. 

He knew he flushed as red as his coat as he peered out the tiny window beside him. It was dusk outside, so they could not see anything past verdant manicured lawns. 

Josephine tucked her writing board under her arm. “Sadly that is not all we can rely upon,” she said, then reached back and knocked twice on the carriage behind her. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some final preparations to make before our entrance to the Palace.” 

“I’ll join her,” Leliana said, as the carriage rolled to a stop. 

“Wait-,” 

The door creaked open, and they quickly slipped out into the darkness. Leaving she and Cullen sitting far too close to one another in an awkward silence—a silence on personal matters that had stretched on since their argument in Skyhold. Even past Hawke’s departure because the events at the Winter Palace had accelerated so quickly after. 

Katria closed the door behind their Spymaster and Ambassador, though she stuck her head out the door beforehand. 

“I bet Dorian has liquor,” she said, as the carriage jostled violently before resuming its path towards the Palace. 

“If Cassandra has not confiscated it,” Cullen replied. 

“Varric, then.” 

He shifted, trying to touch her less, and she could guess why. “Not Hawke?” 

Katria gave him a critical look. “I have doubts he will send anything from Weisshaupt.” 

“Oh—yes,” Cullen said. “I had forgotten he’d…departed.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Did you know, I mean, that he planned-,” 

“It was time,” Katria replied simply. She feared if she admitted Hawke had been a dick, Cullen’s only response would be I told you so. 

“Right.” He ran his hand along his leg, the opposite one that was rested along hers. “Are you still, well-,” 

“Oh yes, we are definitely still sleeping together,” Katria said, nodding. “From a thousand miles apart.” 

Cullen huffed. “You don’t have to—joke like that, you know.” 

She rested her cheek against the wall. “I do though.” 

“The truth isn’t so bad,” he said. 

Katria turned to him, struggling to fit her legs into the small space in front of her. “I told you the truth, and you didn’t like it. There was no way we would have continued things after he left.” 

Cullen broke from her gaze and shrugged. “Yes, well. If that’s what you—what you prefer-,” 

“Prefer,” Katria said with a snort. “You don’t have to feel so threatened by him.” 

“Threatened?” he sputtered. “I am not—I was never-,” 

She patted his arm. “Your biceps are nice too, I promise.” 

“I—I know,” he snapped. 

Katria chuckled while he turned bright red. “Well as long as we’re both agreed.” 

Cullen was quiet for a moment and then exhaled. “We can agree I’ve been a fool.” 

“Can we?” she asked. 

“About Hawke,” he said. “I was an ass about—your choices.” 

“It’s okay,” Katria said. “My emotional incompetence should be judged.” 

Cullen turned back so they were more fully pressed against each other. “Absolutely not, Katria,” he protested. “You’re under enough pressure. I had no right to be angry.” 

She grinned. “Hawke excels at making people angry.” 

“No,” Cullen admitted. “I was-,” His eyes flicked over to her and then back. “I was jealous.” 

Katria was surprised to hear that, and instead of replying pushed her hair behind her ear. She had known that he was jealous—his anger was far beyond a personal dislike of Hawke alone. But to hear it was an entirely different matter. 

“I’m sure you could grow just as nice of a beard if you wanted.”

Cullen huffed. “I didn’t mean-,” He stopped and looked at her. “You knew what I meant.” 

“Yeah,” Katria said. “I was just-,” 

The carriage came to an abrupt stop, making Katria lurch forward. Cullen’s hand flew to her arm. 

“Being an idiot,” she finished, as she peered out the window. 

The small door flew open, just as his hand dropped. Josephine appeared with a smile, though she looked more nervous than usual. 

“Inquisitor,” she said. “Are you ready?” 

Katria looked back at Cullen—he certainly wasn’t jealous now with her acting like such an ass around him. She awkwardly cleared her throat. “Yeah—yes, I’m ready.” 

Cullen watched her try to straighten her legs and fumble her way out of the carriage. 

“Good luck, Inquisitor,” he said. “I’ll see you in there.” 

Katria hopped out and peered back inside to look at him. “You can’t stay in here all night.” 

“Is that an order?” he asked, smiling slightly. 

She smiled back at him. “Always.” 

===

Long before arriving at the Winter Palace, Cullen had lost sleep dreading a variety of scenarios: interacting with nobles, dancing, gossiping, eyes on him, analyzing every move he made. They were nightmares, truly, but nothing was as bad as the real thing. 

Cullen did not understand it, but the Orlesians swarmed to him like bees to honey. Fawned over him and asked him to dance. Boxed him into a corner where he could not get one look at the Inquisitor or this mysterious Florianne. He was a Ferelden commoner for Andraste’s sake—what could Orlesian nobles want with him? 

Despite his…admirers, he was paying enough attention to the ballroom to know the Inquisitor was floundering. Josephine had warned them of the scrutiny they’d be under, especially Katria. And despite her noble lineage, it was not scrutiny she was flourishing under. 

Katria was too direct for the Orlesians. Not careful. She was good at hiding her feelings, but not her opinions. She'd stood before Empress Celene with a smile, and it all went downhill from there. 

It did not help that she’d disappeared for long stretches of time, been seen climbing a trellis outside. All things that made Josephine twitter desperately, trying to hold it all in, even though she had the hardest job in the Inquisition. 

Katria entered the ballroom after her longest absence yet, her gaze down because she could hear the nobles murmuring about her. Cullen broke through his ring of attendants, meeting her at the front of the room. Josephine and Leliana were quick on his heels. 

“Where have you been?” Leliana asked in a low voice. 

“Trying to find something to drink in this Palace that isn’t tea,” she muttered. 

Josephine frowned slightly. “Katria-,” 

“Yeah, I know,” she snapped. “Be serious.” She rubbed her fingers across her brow. “Sadly it’s really fucking serious. The elven servants in the kitchen have been slaughtered. All of them.” 

Cullen’s brow arched in. “Were you attacked?” 

“Obviously,” she replied. “And it won’t be the last time either.” 

Josephine cleared her throat. “Inquisitor, you must stay here for the moment,” she said. “People have wondered where you’ve been.” 

“I’m not good company, I promise,” Katria muttered. 

“Florianne, Celene—they need to see you,” Josephine insisted. “We don’t want people discounting the power of the Inquisition.” 

Katria shook her head. “I’m not here to curry favor. I need to stop Corypheus from inciting chaos in Orlais.” 

Leliana leaned in. “We can’t do that from outside the Winter Palace,” she said. “And at this rate, we will be forced to.” 

“What?” Katria began incredulously. “You think they’ll make us-,” 

Josephine folded her hands together. “If we offend enough people.” 

“Offend,” she sputtered. “What—from using the wrong fork?” 

“Inquisitor-,” 

She quickly raised her hands. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ll—get it together.” Her fingers fell back to card through her hair. “Just give me a minute.” 

Her arms flopped down, and she turned on her heel for the side balcony, disappearing among the crowds of people. Cullen’s instinct was to follow her, but he stayed put. 

Leliana sighed. “Let's hope there's not a trellis to climb out there,” she said. 

Josephine smiled tightly. “It will be alright. I’ll have a word with Florianne and then the Inquisitor can meet with her.” 

Their Spymaster turned to Cullen. “You should speak with the Inquisitor since you had so little to say just now.” 

“I assumed you didn’t want to hear me agreeing with her,” Cullen said. “This whole affairs is—I don’t know. A parade of horribles.” 

Leliana turned him by the arm. “Well you and the Inquisitor should speak about it out there, so you can come back here to make some friends.” 

“I have enough friends, thanks,” Cullen replied sarcastically, but by the time he turned around Leliana was gone, leaving him in a crowd of subtly eavesdropping Orlesians. He let out a sigh before making his way to the windows. 

Katria was seated on a stone bench, with her elbows on her knees. Josephine would fret over her posture and how defeated it looked. 

He stepped out into the cold air, where the scent of perfume didn’t assault him, or the grating sound of fake laughter. Katria immediately lifted her head and stood. 

“I’ll come back,” she said. “I don’t need to be dragged.” 

“I wasn’t,” Cullen replied, lifting his hand. “I’m glad to be out of there.” 

Katria let out a huge breath—he could see the buttons on her coat straining at the movement. “You have quite the team of admirers.” 

“Yes, I’ve never fielded so many questions about my marital status,” he said, grimacing. 

She turned on her heel to the darkness, and the flickering lights below them in the garden. “Meanwhile, I’m apparently two wrong moves from getting us kicked out.” She threw a look back in his direction. “I guess if I had your ass I’d be more popular.” 

Cullen flushed red. “I don’t—I’m not sure that’s…” He cleared his throat. “Really, Inquisitor, you’re doing great.” 

She gave a sharp laugh. “You shouldn’t try to get away with lying again.” 

“The important thing is stopping Corypheus from—whatever his plan is,” Cullen said. “It’s not about making friends.” 

Katria crossed her arms. “I can’t stop a plan I don’t know. I only have dead bodies piling up that no one seems to care about.” 

“If you weren’t here many more would be in danger,” Cullen said. 

She frowned. “Can we really say that?” she asked. “What in the Void have I done—other than-,” She clenched her fist and turned away. “Make rich assholes angry with me.” 

“Inquisitor-,” 

Katria walked a steps across the balcony. “Josephine thought we would have all this goodwill because I’m a Trevelyan,” she said. “But I’m not. I never fit in as a child, and now I feel like I’m back there-,” Her hand rose to the crown of her head. “Except the fate of the entire fucking continent hangs in the balance this time.” 

Cullen understood her consternation—it was one thing to be forced to fight and use skills she already had. It was an entirely different affair to face the nobility. Be judged and nit-picked and forced to conform to ridiculous cultural standards. Katria was bad at it, which was hard enough to face, but her failure spelled doom for everyone else. 

Her knuckles were white from squeezing her fist so tight. “I can’t-,” 

Cullen walked over to join her, brow furrowed in concern as her shoulders hunched in. Her free hand shot out and clenched around the railing of the balcony, in a vice-like grip. 

“Fuck,” she hissed. 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said, hovering now right near her, trying not to sound too desperate in his concern for her. “What is it—your hand? Do-,” 

Katria sharply shook her head once. She was short of breath, chest heaving, mouth scrunched up on one side of her face. Her eyes squeezed shut as he put his hand on her shoulder. 

“Katria-,” 

She immediately broke contact with him, jerking away and facing the opposite direction while still clinging to the railing. “I’m fine,” she ground out, after a forced breath. 

Cullen hated standing so close and feeling so helpless—he knew why Katria sought the outside. Because the walls felt like they were closing in, thoughts racing too fast, with not enough air in the world to fill her lungs. 

After a few minutes, she leaned forward, stretching along her spine before standing straight. Her breathing still seemed erratic, her face pale, but he did not get a good look at her because she turned for the ballroom. 

“I need to get back in there.” 

Cullen followed her. “If you don’t feel-,” 

Katria snorted. “Let’s not pretend how I feel has ever mattered.” 

“It matters to me.” 

The music was so much louder closer to the windows that he doubted Katria heard him—or cared if she did—and anyway she disappeared into the crowds of people in the ballroom, pushing through masked figures in voluminous skirts. 

Cullen hated many things about being alone on that balcony after that—Katria was gone, upset because of his failure, and now he’d have to return to the ballroom to be surrounded by fawning nobles, when the only noble whose attention he ever cared for wanted nothing to do with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things are heating up in the romance department, once I finally have the time to crank out another chapter! Y'alls support keeps me going every day!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, my friends, what a delay. You have my sincerest apologies. Hoping updates will be more consistent now that my life has a little more stability. 
> 
> If it helps, this chapter has lots of excitement :D 
> 
> Also, I can't say enough for how much your comments kept me motivated these past few months. Whenever I felt like throwing in the towel, I'd get a lovely message that really kept me going, so thank you!

Katria’s reputation at the Winter Palace did not improve—and why would it? She had good intentions, but no tools to improve her standing among the Orlesians. Cullen knew that if he were in her situation, regardless of how the nobles fawned over him, he would fare the same way. 

For the Inquisition, too, things went from bad to worse. More dead bodies piled up, and soon Katria had disappeared for her longest stretch yet, where Cullen no longer feared for her reputation, but her safety. 

Nobles began to gather in earnest in the main ballroom because Celene had appeared to make her address, Gaspard in tow. Katria was nowhere in sight, though ironically neither was the Grand Duchess. 

Cullen circled the room to find Josephine, planning to inform her that he’d send every soldier he had to find the Inquisitor. Instead, as soon as he reached their Ambassador, the massive doors at the front of the room were pried open. 

Katria stepped inside. Some her hair had fallen out of her neat plait, frizzy at the bottom but clinging to her temples at the top from sweat. Their eyes met and she immediately strode over. 

“Inquisitor, are you-,” 

“It’s Florianne,” she interrupted with a scowl. “ _Fucking Florianne_.” 

Josephine hurried over to them. “She’s working for Corypheus?” 

“Unless she tried to kill me for some _other_ reason,” Katria replied. “My poor fashion sense maybe.” 

Cullen gestured to the front of the ballroom. “Celene’s going to make her address soon—you must decide what you’re going to do.” 

“Save Celene,” she insisted. “It’s what we came here to do.” Her eyes scanned the room, stopping with a crease in her brow once she spotted the Grand Duchess sauntering across the shining tile with her brother. “We need to confront Florianne.” 

Josephine cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Inquisitor, I’m not sure that will work. The Grand Duchess will deny it, and…” She hesitated. 

“No one will believe me,” Katria finished with a frown. 

“But we have evidence,” Cullen protested. 

Josephine sighed. “And Florianne has her reputation.”

“We’ll detain her then,” he said. “By force. Before she can harm Celene.” 

Katria shook her head. “I’ll detain her, not the others.” 

Cullen frowned. “We can’t risk-,” 

“I’ll decide what risks we take,” she interjected. “I don’t want any harm coming to our men.” 

“But Inquisitor-,” 

Cullen was interrupted by the abrupt stop to the music, the dancers below them following suit, as Celene gilded to the front of the room to begin her address, blue skirts fluttering behind her. 

Katria cursed under her breath and then looked back at him. “Protect these people and your men,” she said and then immediately darted into the crowd. Against her wishes, Cullen gestured for the men posted at the front corners of the room to watch Florianne. 

Because of the crowds, the Inquisitor could not reach the Empress right away. Instead, Celene began her speech, pale arms spread out wide. 

“Lords and ladies, as a nation we mourn our sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, friends and lovers claimed by war.”

Cullen began to trail after Katria—he spotted the flash of her red coat between the pastel colored ruffles and elaborate masks all around her. At the same time, he saw Florianne standing at Celene’s flank, waiting patiently with hands folded together. 

Celene continued, her voice booming up the ornate ceiling. “The sky is torn open, the Divine is dead, and many fear the end of all things comes upon us.” 

He began pushing with more urgency through the crowd, but was not as effective as Katria. The Orlesian women leaned into him, still reaching, clawing, placid, fake smiles peeking out from under their masks. On the other hand, Katria was given a wide berth, only negative whispers and gossip following behind her. 

Katria appeared at the front of the room finally, while he had made it halfway. Meanwhile, Celene gestured sideways to Florianne. 

“This would not have been possible without the efforts of many. Dear cousin, please step forward.”

The Grand Duchess stepped forward, looking insufferably smug, but Katria darted forward, one dagger pulled from her side. 

“Florianne, stand down!” she ordered, drawing gasps from spectators across the ballroom. 

Florianne froze, expression inscrutable under her mask, before she spun around. “Now!” she shouted. “For Corypheus, kill them all!”

Near his guards, he saw what he assumed were Florianne’s flunkies lurching forward with knives glinting in the candlelight. Then the clack of metal as they engaged in combat. 

Cullen could not hear Katria over the chaos, but she clearly mouthed fuck and followed Florianne out past the doors to the garden. A pang of terror shot through his chest because she was facing the Grand Duchess in only her red coat and pants, no armor to speak of. No weapons except what she could fit discreetly on her person. 

His other problem was Florianne’s henchmen, who wreaked havoc on nobles even less armed than the Inquisitor. Apparently, the Duchess had given them slash and burn orders because they targeted not just Inquisition or Orlesian soldiers, but nobles, servants, anyone within striking distance. 

It was a disaster, at the start, until his soldiers could gain control, and Cullen found himself wishing they could have subdued Florianne before she gave her orders, if it was Celeste they were going to save. But he could not blame Katria for her missteps because he knew he was even less equipped to handle her mission. 

Though Katria may not have excelled at appeasing the nobility, she would defeat Florianne in combat, he knew that. Or he hoped. Couldn’t fathom the alternative. 

Like his Inquisitor, Cullen too had few weapons on him—all a consequence of Josephine making him wear this stupid outfit and not his armor. He had a dagger, which gave him some leverage, but he focused his efforts on directing fleeing, terrified nobles out into the vestibule, while also making his way across the room to the balcony where Katria had disappeared. 

Celene had been ushered away, on his orders, to safety, along with Josephine, who managed to look unshaken, though he doubted she really felt that way. 

He reached the outside past the ballroom windows. It was dark out now, and cold, wisps of white following each heavy breath he made. Florianne, the Inquisitor, and the others were below him, clashing under torchlight. 

The Duchess was alone, which meant she was no match for Katria’s team, as an archer no less. She was quick and small, but that didn’t make her hard to catch. Her cronies were there to support her, which worried him more than some noble Orlesian on the battlefield. 

Cullen put one hand on the balcony and leapt over it, dagger in his other hand. As he looked up, he realized there was hardly a need. 

Florianne was cornered on all sides, Cassandra barreling towards her, sword high, which was probably a terrifying sight for whomever was in the Seeker’s sights. It was over, 100%, and Florianne knew that. 

Knew that, and just like desperate people did facing death, or imprisonment, or doom, she sought chaos. The arrow notched in her bow would never deter Cassandra, so she spun on her heel to Katria, releasing it in the Inquisitor’s direction. 

It was agonizing to watch, powerless as always. Heart-stopping, lung clenching—so over-dramatic because in Katria’s line of work he should have suspected her to suffer injury. And yet his happiness was unequivocally tied to her well-being—he’d never feel whole again if something happened to her. Dangerous thoughts to have about Corypheus’ primary enemy. 

Katria did not skirt away from the arrow fast enough. He knew it hit her because of the way she froze, knees buckling slightly. She didn’t clutch her chest, thank the Maker, pale hand flying up to her arm. 

“Fuck!” Katria hissed, hunching over. “Oh, fuck, _fuck_ -,” 

At the same moment, Florianne fell to the dirt. Cassandra had not run her sword through the woman; she probably had orders to spare her so Josephine could squeeze as much information out of her as possible. 

Dorian rushed over to Katria. He was the closest, but she didn’t look to him for help. Instead, the sheet of red that was now her hand grabbed the front shaft of the arrow that hadn’t entered her arm—a gruesome sight already, compounded by watching her squeeze the front until it snapped off, end and fletching falling to the ground. She reached around and yanked the rest of the arrow out, face scrunched up and mouth muffling an excruciating sound. 

“Want to bleed more, do you?” Dorian demanded exasperatedly. To Cullen’s surprise, the mage cut a piece of his own coat and pressed it to her arm, which only caused her to yelp in pain. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” he heard her insist. He had rushed over because her red coat gave him little insight into how much bleeding there was. As he saddled up beside her, it was worse than he expected. One whole sleeve was now a deep red, and spreading. 

“Inquisitor.” 

“I’m fine,” she snapped again, then let out a heavy breath. “Maker, that hurt.” Her eyes flitted over to Florianne, writhing on the ground because Cass had hit her as hard as she could. “I’m going to kill her now.” 

Dorian grabbed her good shoulder. “No, no, my dear. We need her.” 

“I need my fucking _arm_ too, you know.” She was clenching her jaw hard, but released the grip, looking over at Cullen. “Are the others alright?” 

“Yes,” Cullen said. “Including Celene.”

“Goodie,” Katria muttered, before her bloodied hand tightened around her bicep. “I want a fervent thank-you from her, and then I want the biggest Maker-forsaken bottle of whiskey this useless country has.” 

“I’ll call for a healer, as well,” Cullen said. “And arrange for our withdrawal.” 

She nodded. “Thank you. As quickly as humanely possible, if you would.” 

“Of course,” he said. He instinctively went to spin on his heel and exit, but forced himself to stop. How could he not acknowledge the intensity of emotion he felt just now? Leave it to business and not tell her that her survival was quite possibly the only thing he cared about? 

“Inquisitor—uh, Katria,” he said, pivoting slightly. “It’s good…I’m glad that you’re alright. That it’s over.”

Dorian smirked. “Oh Commander, how emotional.” 

Katria thwacked him with her good arm. “You’re one to talk,” she said, then looked at him. “Thank you, I’m glad it’s over too.” 

Dorian was right—Cullen had given the blandest offer of sentimentality possible. It was how he felt for friends, not her. No, he was infatuated with her. Maybe more, and he’d never told her. He’d lost her the first time to Hawke because of it. 

But he couldn’t say more here, as she bled profusely, in pain, tired from a long evening. Instead, he shuffled back with his hands behind him. 

“I’ll manage everything, you don’t have to worry.” 

Katria gave him a weak smile in return—others had already begun flocking down to them, including a healer, to ensure the Inquisitor’s safety, or to watch more action unfold now that it was safe. 

Cullen certainly wanted to stay behind and hover uselessly to talk to Katria, but he had work to do on her behalf and too many emotions raging inside to speak coherently in front of anyone. 

He was always glad to have the job he had, and thankful to Cassandra for it, but especially today because it provided an excellent distraction from his failure to tell Katria the truth.

===

Katria had many bad days stored away as painful memories. Dreadful, disappointing, crushing days, and in the grand scheme of things, her time at the Winter Palace could not compare to those, panic attacks and snotty nobles notwithstanding. 

That is, until she got shot with an arrow. 

It wasn’t the first time, but it sure as fuck was the worst time. Florianne was an obnoxiously spoiled noble, a brat, and yet she’d managed to stick Katria. Maker, it was infuriating. It was worse than the pain pulsing in her arm well after they’d left the Winter Palace. A reminder she was getting sloppy, even with her fighting. Her life was an emotional and now physical downward spiral. 

For once, Katria was grateful Cullen was obsessed with his job. He managed everything: troop withdrawal, crowd control, while Josephine handled all the nobles. Katria was injured, so people immediately assumed she’d become more incompetent. That was fine by her—just meant she got to find some alcohol and leave the Palace sooner. 

At the estate of Josephine’s family friends, Katria retreated to her own room, shut the door, and only opened it when someone appeared with food that wasn’t Orlesian and pretentious. And she needed food too, considering the amount of blood she’d lost and then promptly replaced with whiskey. 

Katria was well into her second bowl of stew, and fourth tumbler or whiskey, when she heard a knock at the door. She looked up, wiping the stew drippling down her chin with a piece of bread. She said nothing, and eventually the door creaked open. 

“Inquisitor?” 

It was Cullen, of course. Because he was brave enough to come in after hearing no response from her, but not enough to just waltz in without knocking like Dorian would. 

She wiggled the fingers on her good arm. “I’m here.” 

He stopped only a few feet from the threshold. “I just wanted—to see how you were feeling.” 

“I’m fine,” she said dismissively, leaning back. It was true, a little, because a healer had just come by to change her bandages and slipped her more whiskey, which was very effective at numbing the pain from her wound. 

Katria saw him still standing awkwardly, so she gestured to the chair opposite her. “Come on, sit.” 

“I couldn’t possibly-,” 

She waved her hand. “You haven’t eaten, you need to.” 

“True,” he admitted. “But I don’t want you to think that I…I’m trying to—I don’t know…” 

He was flushing red then, which only made Katria smirk. “Trust me, I know you’d never be bold enough to burst in here for anything but business.” 

Cullen sat opposite her. “I can be bold,” he protested. 

Katria grabbed a bowl for him and ladled him some stew. “Where did you get this?” he asked, before she could reply. 

“Got our hosts to agree to whip it up for me,” she explained, handing him the bowl. “I wanted some real food. Everything at the Winter Palace was too—pretentious.” 

“Agreed,” Cullen said. He hadn’t tried to eat there, but he’d seen all the delicacies. They either looked obscure and unappetizing or so dainty he’d have to eat for days to feel full. 

She shrugged. “Plus, everyone glaring at me like I was the Sixth Blight certainly curbed my appetite.” 

“We accomplished our mission,” he said. “The Orlesians are in your debt.” 

Katria tore in half the serving of bread and tossed it to him. “They still hate me.” 

“Who cares?” Cullen asked. 

Her brow creased in. “If I had been better—less of a bumbling idiot—I could have detained Florianne well before…” She rubbed her forehead. “Before anyone had to get hurt.” 

“You did the best you could,” he replied. 

“Yes, I’m sure if I just try my best Corypheus will quit trying to destroy the world,” she muttered. 

Cullen gave her a pointed look. “As it happens I think your best is well enough for everyone.” 

“You’re getting better at lying, I’ll give you that,” Katria said. 

He sighed, clicking his spoon against his bowl. “You’re especially scornful of praise today.” 

“Because I did nothing to deserve praise,” she said. 

Cullen settled back against the ornate chair behind him. He hadn’t undone the buttons on his coat like her, or removed his boots. She was at least pleased he hadn’t slipped into his armor as soon as he had the chance. The coat was more flattering and slightly less hideous. 

She could tell he was scrutinizing her. “Katria, what happened tonight, on the balcony…” 

Her eyes averted down, a sharp breath filling her lungs because she was hoping Cullen would forget that moment. A tiny blip in a far more exciting evening. But of course he remembered. He was far too attentive to her. 

Katria finally cleared her throat and smiled weakly. “What can I say, your outfit just took my breath away.” 

“Has it happened before?” he asked. 

“Not seeing your armor on you, no.” 

Cullen frowned. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, then leaned forward with his elbow against the table. It was a small table, so she could feel their knees bumping underneath it. “Has it happened before?” 

“It’s not a problem.” 

He was quiet for a moment, hands folded together. “I’m not here as Commander of the Inquisition, you know. I worry for you terribly, and-,” 

She huffed. “If it will stop more compliments or emotions, I’ll tell you the truth.” 

“I can agree to those terms for now,” he replied. 

Katria crossed her arms. “It’s not exciting or alarming,” she began with a shrug. “I merely—panic, occasionally, when I feel…overwhelmed. I’m not equipped for emotion, you know.” 

“Does it happen a lot?” he asked. 

“No, no,” Katria said hastily. “I mean, before tonight—it was after the Conclave, you know, when I woke up with a glowing green mark on my hand. A few more times in my youth.” She snorted and rubbed her brow. “Maker, to be considered past my youth.” 

“I wish I could have done more,” Cullen said. “To help.”

She tore off a piece of bread and chewed on it. She was glad Josephine was not present, since she’d balk at her loud chewing. “I managed myself, didn’t I?” 

“Yes, of course,” he said. “I just—I…want this to be easier for you.” 

Katria cocked an eyebrow. “Then stop conspiring with Josephine to deny me alcohol.” 

“That’s for your own good,” Cullen replied with a small smile. 

She raised the crystal beside her, filled with amber liquid. “Well I’m glad they’ve made me the boss then.” 

Katria drained the glass while he gave her a disapproving look. When she placed it back on the table, she returned his smile. “Has any attentive Orlesian woman followed you here with more proposals?” 

“No, thankfully,” Cullen said quickly. “I was glad to be rid of them. I don’t understand it.” 

“Look in a mirror. It’s pretty self-explanatory.” 

He chuckled and blushed red up to his ears. “That can’t explain it all.” 

“Yes well you can’t see your own arse.”

Cullen covered his eyes with his hand. “You are mortifying me.” 

“Complimenting you,” she corrected.

“Compliment,” he said with a snort. “Would it feel like a compliment if I was—was talking about your-,” He gestured vaguely to her. “You know.” 

“My arse?” she finished. “There’s no compliment to give because according to Dorian I have one as flat as a pancake.” 

“I quite like—I mean-,” He was redder, if it was possible. “Maker, this is hardly the conversation I should have with you here.” 

Katria laughed. “Are you concerned about propriety?” she asked. “That people will talk?” She shook her head. “Any delusions about my modesty have been dispelled long ago.”

Cullen looked away. Probably not tactful for her to reference such things, alone with him in this room, with the bed so soft and inviting beside them. But it was true, and she was not concerned that her stalwart Commander would lose his self-control and do something that she so badly wished he would. She reached over for the decanter beside him to pour herself another glass of whiskey. 

He peered back up and his brow furrowed in concern upon seeing her bandaged arm right in front of him. A shade of pink was beginning to peer out from the tight wrappings. 

“A few more inches and it might have pierced your heart,” he said. 

Katria shrugged. “Don’t let it keep you up at night.” 

“You do that already.” 

She stopped with the glass to her lips, exhaling through her nose so the crystal was fogged up along the top. It clinked back against the table and she stood. 

Katria wished she could convince herself that Cullen’s thoughts of her were purely lustful, explicit fantasies about sex or—whatever. But they weren’t. Well, maybe sometimes, but clearly too he occupied himself thinking more gallantly about the future, about physical and emotional intimacy of the relationship kind and-

She opened the balcony doors across from her, cold air whooshing onto her face to halt such alarming thoughts. Her bare toes curled against the chill, but still she padded out into the darkness. The only sound she heard was the rustle of the manicured garden below. 

Cullen pushed his chair back and followed. She heard his voice behind her. 

“I don’t know what possessed me to say that.” 

Katria looked down at her feet. “I thought after Hawke you’d want nothing to do with me.” 

He inched further in until he was beside her. “I told you I was jealous. I…meant it.” A sigh left him. “Hawke was bold and there for you when you needed it.” 

“And then he left without so much as a goodbye.” 

She knew his eyes widened at that. She’d failed to mention Hawke’s poor treatment of her because she didn’t want Cullen to be angry, or insufferably smug. Instead of gloating, though, he frowned. 

“He didn’t deserve you.” 

Her throat tightened at that. She felt it—his intensity of emotion for her. His slavish devotion to her well-being, his yearning, but it was all wrong. The version of Katria he wished for didn’t exist. 

“No, Cullen, I’m afraid he did.” 

He was quiet, clearly hurt by the implication that Katria might have enjoyed being with Hawke. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-,”

“Not because of him,” Katria interjected with a sharp wave of her hand. “Not because he was good to me or doting—I’m not any of that either.” She finally turned to him and met his gaze in the low light. “I’ve abandoned more men that I care to admit because I don’t want-,” Her eyes were glistening, and she hated it. “What you want.” 

“You’ve never asked me,” he replied, swallowing roughly. 

“I already know,” she whispered. 

“What’s so wrong with it?” Cullen asked. 

Katria gave a humorless laugh. “Nothing,” she said. “For the right person, but I—I’m not…” She shook her head. “I’m not that person. Not even withstanding the fact that I shouldn’t be entertaining the thought of personal attachment with the fate of Thedas conveniently in my hands.” 

He raised his hand to his brow, rubbing with two fingers. “Of course—yes. I wouldn’t dream of distracting you.” 

She ran her palms along the balcony rail, cold marble at her fingertips and feet. She wanted him to leave and stay all at once. Which no doubt was frustrating for him and made her just awful. Leading him on like she’d done on many Templars before. 

Katria sniffled and ran her good arm under her nose. “I’m sorry to have caused you so much trouble.” 

To her surprise, Cullen chuckled. She snapped her head around to look annoyed, but couldn’t find the courage as he grinned back at her. 

“What-,” 

He waved his hand. “Clearly I need to stop dancing around this,” he said. 

She arched a brow. “Especially since you were so loathe to dance at the Winter Palace.” 

Cullen reached out and put his hand over hers on the railing. Her muscles instinctively clenched, coiled tight, but she did not pull away. His fingertips were rough on the top of her hand, calloused like hers. 

“Katria, you are—what solves my problems, not causes them,” he said. “I am-,” He paused and cleared his throat, losing that professional confidence he had in front of his troops. “I mean—I know why Hawke…pined for you-,” 

She gave a sharp laugh. “ _Pined_.” 

He huffed. “Maker’s breath, I just meant that Hawke only cared for how you looked, but I like—really like who you are.” His fingers tightened around hers. “When I think about what will happen when this is all over, I can’t imagine…being without you.”

Katria pulled her hand out from his, holding her palm against her chest, heart beating frantically underneath it. This man, this foolish, romantic man was going to give her another panic attack. 

Maker, she had been so lonely lately. Constantly surrounded by people, shuffling around her spewing disdain or adoration, but no matter what, no one saw her. Just the Inquisitor, or the Herald of Andraste. 

Cullen knew her flaws, her many vices, and hadn’t recoiled in disgust at all the wrong she’d done. Not yet, anyway. And he was telling her good things, scary things, but nice to hear for a fleeting moment before she realized that eventually he’d change his mind, or she’d force him to, and then there would have been no point to this at all. 

He sensed her discomfort and sighed. “I’ve upset you.” 

“No, no,” she said hastily, forcing herself to face him. “I’m just—I can’t…” 

Her eyes flicked up to his face—it was such a nice face, even in the shadows. His brow was wrinkled, not in annoyance at her emotional incompetence, but concern for her well-being. 

Katria flung herself at him, which felt like an awful idea in the seconds after she was pressed against his chest, but not so much when their lips crashed together. It wasn’t so difficult, because they were close in height, but nonetheless a concerted effort. A choice that would end in absolute ruin, but at least he wasn’t talking anymore. 

Cullen did not think it was a bad idea. His arms circled her waist, and he kissed her hard—nothing was cold anymore, she was flushed, warm, wrapped up tight in this insane fantasy of his. He had soft lips she had thought about pretty much endlessly when he was around, his jawline was prickly with stubble. This wasn’t likely kissing Hawke. Cullen wasn’t selfish like the Champion, pursuing his own desires, or rushing.  
She and Hawke used one another as means to an end, but for Cullen, _she_ was the end. It made her stomach turn. 

Katria clenched her hands in his coat, crushing the velvet between her fingers, but she knew she couldn’t—shouldn’t—do this long. Just as he opened his mouth against hers, she staggered back, letting out the breath that had been caught up between them. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Cullen, I’m-,” 

He held her tighter. “Don’t be, please.” 

Katria shook her head. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” 

“I didn’t mind it,” he replied gently. 

She ran her hand down his shoulder across his arm. He was so firm and unwavering, in just the way she’d like to lean on as her life spiraled out of her control. But he couldn’t be that person for her, not as he fought his own battles. 

Cullen leaned back close to her, breath warm against her cold skin, and he would probably have kissed her again—guiltily, she hoped he would—if the door to the hallway had not opened. 

Only a head peered inside, but that was enough for them to jump apart. Katria craned her neck to look out at the dark garden, while Cullen directed his withering gaze through the double doors. 

“Corypheus had better be _down the hall_ -,” 

He strode into the room, and Katria followed him. He seemed to have forgotten this was her room, and though there was plenty of Inquisition gossip, no one would likely presume to deliver something to Cullen in her quarters. 

The poor man who had pushed open the door a little more was blushing profusely. “It’s—this is-,” He tossed the report onto the bedside table. “From Leliana, Your Worship. I—I’m sorry.” 

Before Katria could respond, the door shut, leaving them alone again in an awkward silence. Cullen picked up the report—because of course he did—and he frowned. 

“I’ll handle this, you should rest.” 

She wanted to protest—he’d been working all night, while she sat and drank, but decided it was better for him to go. If not, she’d want to kiss him more, which was only perpetuating…a lie. 

“Thanks,” she said, eyes on her toes. 

His hand skimmed her shoulder blade and then her arm. He gave her a small smile and then disappeared through the door. 

Katria flopped back in her chair, reaching for more alcohol. To rinse away her troubles and the warm tingly feeling she had from his kiss. The good feeling that she didn’t deserve. 

She had kissed Cullen because she didn’t want to answer him. And because she had wanted to kiss him, except with no emotional repercussions, which was not going to happen.

Katria did not know exactly what Cullen thought after her brash act, but she had misled him, or hoped to avoid the truth, like she always did. Avoid the unfortunate emotional commitment he wanted that she was incapable of giving. 

She reached the bottom of her bottle—the last one that was supposed to sate her all the way back to Skyhold. Cullen had been fed a half-truth at best, a lie at worst. And what hurt, absolutely the most, was that if it was a lie, she’d hide it well, be the perfect liar, because that was all one of the only skills she had.


End file.
